Belonging
by IDair
Summary: Peter has always considered Wendy as his. He's never really reflected over the possibility the truth might be frighteningly different. M rated!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Belonging

 **Summary:** Peter always considered Wendy as his. He never really reflected over the possibility the truth might be frighteningly different.

 **Timeline:** AU 'cause I adore Rumple, I swear, I freaking adore his character, but I can't deal with Pan being the worst father in the world in this story, sorry! So AU for that, I guess.

 **Main Characters:** Peter Pan, Wendy Darling

 **Disclaimer: I do** _ **not**_ **own OUAT, I do not, I do not!**

 **Just a reminder, this story is (gonna be) M rated so, you guys are warned!**

* * *

The realization doesn't come slowly.

It doesn't crawl its way into his mind, into his heart inches by inches. It doesn't sneak in silently, giving him time to get accustomed to it, time to gradually let his consciousness wrap around it and figure it out little by little.

No, it's nothing of the sort.

And all his claims he has her, he owns her.

 _Mine, mine, mine._

Like she's nothing but a possession, a thing.

 _His_ plaything.

All his smugness about how he owns everything in Neverland.

 _Mine, mine, mine._

Because he's the king and she's nothing special.

Just another toy, a doll he likes to spend his time with.

She should be grateful, _so very_ grateful, he fancies her enough to keep her _alive_.

All of that, _everything_ about him is such a constant display of cockiness and authority and power, seems like a mockery, a laughable fable, now because…

The realization hits like a rock thrown against his skull, a punch right into his gut.

It doesn't makes him bleed like a fist against his jaw would and he finds himself desperately wishing it did, instead.

Because somehow it feels the same, the hurt is the same, stinging and almost agonizing. And the worst part is, it feels like there is no real going back from it. He cannot _think_ of a way back from it.

Instead, the realization comes with the ground of the island trebling under its own king's feet.

It feels exactly like that. Like falling to pieces out of sudden, like a castle of sand crumbling down at the first ocean's wave.

Like a hand shoving into his chest, contracting around his heart and squeezing, but not tight enough to crush it.

 _Never_ tight enough to crush it. (Oh no, Wendy Darling would never crush somebody's heart.)

But it's enough to make him wish for one awful moment, she just _killed_ him instead.

Just to pull him out of that misery. (Because Wendy Darling is supposed to be merciful, isn't she?)

(Apparently when it came to him, Wendy Darling could be as cruel and cold-blooded as Peter Pan was.)

 _Mine, mine, mine._

She's his. She's his. She's his.

How good can he get at pretending to actually believe that?

How good can _anybody_ get at pretending to actually believe that?

And not the other way around?

The _truth_.

That _he_ 's hers.

He's hers.

He's utterly, completely hers.

He's hers in a way he can't even _start_ to comprehend.

And he doesn't _want_ to.

He doesn't want to understand it, doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to _belong_ to her.

But deep down, he knows.

He belongs to her because he knows he'd do anything for her, _anything_. (She's the only one he'd do anything.)

He'd give anything she asks for.

And for the first time since ever, Peter thinks he's scared, utterly terrified, of what he'd do if he hadn't got his magic.

Because he could give her whatever she wishes for. She could name a thing and he'd give it to her in a blink of an eye.

But she doesn't ask. She doesn't ask for _anything_.

She has never really asked him anything. (If not seeing the mermaids and the fairies and the pirates and… giving him a _thimble_.)

(Because long gone were the times where she wouldn't stop crying, screaming she wanted to go home. _Let me go, let me go, let me go home._ _I want to go home!_ And long gone were the times his chest has felt so heavy.)

And she owns him like that.

And no matter how much he hates her for it, _she_ has him.

She has him.

She has him so completely.

In everything he can't give her, in everything he can't do, in every word he can't say, in every single emotion he can't feel.

It's awfulness.

It's the most awful thing he can think about.

And he killed, tortured people. Tortured and killed pirates and boys just because he _felt_ like it.

It's scary as hell and totally petrifying. How powerless it makes him feel, _she_ makes him feel.

It's like losing himself. But not in a way he's used to, in a way he is completely happy with.

It's not like the Lost Boys lose themselves trough the soft notes of his music. Not like _he_ loses himself trough the notes of his music.

No, it's like he's not really himself for her.

Because she has him.

She holds him without chains and strings, like he does.

He tried to cage her and succeeded because _Peter Pan never fails_ , but Wendy didn't even need that.

She didn't even need a cage, an _entire_ island to get him.

She has him.

And she wears him in the chain around her neck.

* * *

Her palm is soft and smooth, a feather-like caress, as she strokes his cheek.

"Peter?"

Her voice is sweet, his name spoken into such a well-known, caring tone.

Wendy's lying on her back on the bed in the treehouse. Her thick, wild curls spread over the pillow, her nightgown raised up over her hips, her legs loosely wrapped around his waist.

Peter on top of her, has to blinks a couple of times, before he can actually see her.

His eyes shift down slowly. His tunic is open too, his own belt tossed on the other side of the bed.

He feels like he'd been awakened form a dream and he's not sure where he is, _why_ he's there in the first place.

Then, he takes sight of the creamy whiteness of her legs, her naked knees parted over his sides. He feels her fingers still brushing his cheekbone.

His own fingers freeze on the bare skin of her thighs.

Oh, _right_.

Wendy looks up at him, eyes narrowing and a slight frown growing on her forehead. "Are you okay?" she asks, quietly.

No, he's not.

He's _not_ okay.

But pretending is his second nature, so Peter just nods and leans down to kiss her, but his mouth is too delicate, too slow, his lips too gentle.

That's not him. That's not how he kisses her.

Wendy curls her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck and gasps softly against his mouth.

And the sound it's _so_ damn sweet, Peter has to break apart right away because he _can't_ breathe.

He pants. His fists clenches around the fabric of the pillow on the sides of her head.

"Peter, what..." Wendy starts, deeply confused now. She searches his eyes. She meets them for a second and they're wild and vulnerable. He feels something already pricking, _wetting_ them.

 _He's hers. He's hers. He's hers._

He leans over, his hand cups her jaw and kisses her again, his mouth forceful against hers, but he has to pull away fast.

She feels him moving, suddenly drawing away from her and she pops up on her elbows.

"Is everything alright?" She asks again and he hates that note in her voice, that concern of hers. That bloody _motherly_ concern of hers. He hates it.

"We don't have to do anything, if you don't want to… I mean…" Wendy stutters on her words, cheeks heating up.

Peter breaths in and he shuts his eyes tightly.

He wants to. God, he _bloody_ wants to.

He wants to _take_ her and make her scream and make her _beg_ for him _._ Exactly like he did times and times before.

He wants to take her and make it all go away.

He can feel her heat between his legs, his own aching below his waist, his own need to have her.

 _She has you._

He wants to take her and silence every single voice in his head.

 _She has you. She has you. She has you._

Every single monster in his mind that makes him insecure and helpless and _weak_.

He's hers. He's hers. He's hers.

His head suddenly spinning, he lets himself fall down on his back, his weight making the mattress underneath them hop a little.

Wendy turns to look at him. One of his arms dropped over his shut closed eyes and his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his heavy breathing.

For a moment, Peter just wants to make her disappear.

 _Kill her, kill her, kill her._ That's what he should have done years, a _century_ ago.

He feels like he cannot open his eyes to even look at her.

And still, he can't pull completely away from her either.

He stretches his arm, wraps it around her waist and drags her against his side. Their legs get intertwined and he buries his face into her hair.

He holds her tight, _so_ tight and she feels him still shivering and panting slightly against her chest.

When he loosens his grip just a little bit, Wendy tries again "Is there something wrong?"

The only thing he can think of is how on earth does she manage that?

How can she sound so genuinely concerned? Worried and loving and caring (does she really care? _Can_ she really care? For… him?) when he can't remember the last time someone spoke like that to him?

Peter doesn't say anything, but Wendy doesn't stop talking, her voice little but heartfelt.

"I know you probably don't wanna talk about it, but… you know, you can tell me… if you ever wish it, you can tell me"

That's not at all what Peter Pan does.

 _Talk_ about feelings. Feelings that shouldn't be there in the first place. Wendy has to know it by now. They both know it.

Peter just takes her.

They, they… gosh, they just _fuck_. Isn't that the word? (He doesn't know for sure. He might have walked some steps right into adulthood because of her, _always_ because of her, but he never _really_ dived deep into that world. He never really wanted to.)

That's who he is. That's what he can deal with.

That's what he learned to deal with since she came into his life, with her perfect white dress and hidden kisses on the corner of her mouth.

But soon he realized the game he could play with her was not so different than others that he played if he knew how to set the board.

And he learned it pretty fast.

And it could be so much fun.

He takes what he wants -needs, needs, _needs_ \- He needs her so desperately sometimes he thinks he's gonna break.

And then he leaves her.

He leaves her bed, leaves her treehouse and disappears into the darkness where he came from.

Wendy lifts her head to look at him. Her eyes still confused but honest and even hopeful. (He never got it. The way she used to look at him so many times. He never got it. He never got _her._ )

The green in his eyes trembles.

Peter takes a deep breath, holds her close to him again and just lets his eyelashes shut close.

They fall asleep like that.

His clothes half discarded, her nightgown still raised up around over her thighs, one of his legs settled between hers, his arm wrapped around her waist, his face cuddled into the side of her neck.

His acorn, hanging in the chain around Wendy's neck, trapped between their chests.

* * *

 **Ok, so, my first attempt at doing something longer.**

 **I guess this will have a few chapters, I don't know, I suddenly got this inspiration for Once!Peter and Once!Wendy.**

 **I hope you enjoyed reading this, and if you'd ever like to leave a review, that will make me so very happy!**


	2. Chapter 2

****I'm terribly, terribly sorry for the long wait. Really, I can't say how sorry I am.****

 ** **I had the wrost writer's block case, I guess that happens to wannabe writers sooner or later and it was such a struggle to write this chapter because I knew it was really important in order to set the path I wanted the story to take.****

 ** **Anyway, I can't say thank you enough to every one of you who reviewed, favourited and followed this story!****

 ** **Thank so much, you guys, it means a lot!****

 ** _ **You can easily skip this little corner but I wanted to answer the guests reviews someway because you've been so incredibly lovely:**_**

 ** _ **To RoseRed: thank you! I try to experiment different things with writing and Peter and Wendy happen to be my favourites at the moment!**_**

 ** _ **To Anon: omg! thank you for your words, and yes, I like to show how different Peter and Wendy approach feelings and that sort of sense of power that comes with them. As you can see Peter is realizing he's in a bit of predicament with Wendy (spoiler alert!). I do think they might have opposite opinion on stuff like control and power. While Peter craves it, I think Wendy doesn't care much, if not at all, so it makes sense for me that she is basically unaware of her influence on him on that level. It also makes sense for me that Wendy is Peter's undoing in some way, mainly because of everything her character represents in the original tale and her obvious connection to the adult world and her desire to grow up. (She kind of balances Peter's character in a very similar way Hook does, if you follow my reasoning?)**_**

 ** _ **To CuteAnimeLover: thanks so much it means a lot to know you are reading and kind of enjoying my story. I won't give up on it, no matter how difficult it might be to write it, it's always pleasure to write for you guys.**_**

 ** _ **To the guest: yeah, I guess I kinda am. Writer's block sucks, doesn't it? Will this update be enough to earn me your forgiveness? I do hope so.**_**

 **Ok, end of the rambling. Please, enjoy the reading.**

* * *

When Peter wakes up, he still feels tired, like he hasn't slept at all.

He sits up and turns his head to look down at Wendy.

During the night, she had slipped away from him.

Now, she was curled on her side, with an arm underneath her head and her palms resting under her cheek.

She was sleeping softly.

There had been many things about her that had left him astonished before.

Also, there had been things about her that Peter… had _envied_.

And that was just another one of them.

The way she slept. The way she seemed to sleep _so_ peacefully, so easily.

When he never managed that.

Nightmares haunted his nights for as long as he could remember.

He really envied that.

* * *

He admired her.

Him, Peter Pan, who never thought could ever really found anyone as interesting as he was, anyone could ever be as good as he was, because he was the _best_ that ever was, had found himself admiring her.

He saw the way the Lost Boys looked up at her sometimes. Their _mother_. With glimpses of respect and wonder. And he seemed to understand that at last, because in the end, he felt the same.

He admired _her_.

There had been moments -fleeting, passing through his mind, like a breeze swirling gently and yet still so incredibly powerful- when he thought, that he actually liked her and not just spending the night in her sheets.

He actually _enjoyed_ her company.

There had been nights, rare but there had been, when he didn't feel that hunger -like something consuming him from the inside- that they spent together and it was just… simple, easy.

Evenings when they sat in front of each other, after dinner, in complete silence.

He would refine his pipes with his dagger and she would sew clothes.

And it didn't felt weird or awkward or so damn frustrating for once.

It just felt _good_.

But that meant nothing. Nothing, really.

How could it mean _anything_ at all?

And keep thinking about it was just pointless rambling, pointless weakness.

Because night after night, after they had been together, the only thing he wanted, the only thing he needed was to destroy those thoughts as fast as they came and just _forget_.

And in the the morning, when he was gone from her treehouse and he was all by himself, _alone_ again, he always forgot about those pieces of quietness they shared.

Pretended they never happened at all.

Because all they had, all _he_ wanted from her was to have her in the bed, to sleep with her, and nothing more.

 _Nothing_ more.

She never asked him to stay afterwards, after all.

Not once.

Because he might have a place in her bed, but not in her heart.

 _Ne_ _ver_ in her heart.

(Did he really want that? Did he want to stay with her? It had never been an option before, but now…)

Now, his mind keep wandering around, keep tormenting him with questions because somehow all of that didn't felt right anymore.

That thing they were doing… for some reason it didn't feel good doing that. Doing _just_ that.

It was a game wasn't it? Playing mother and father, husband and wife, whatever it was, whatever way the grownups used to call it, it was just a game to him.

And if it was a game then, why, _w_ _hy_ couldn't he play it? Why couldn't he _win_?

 _Because you don't have her._

He already knew the truth now, he just couldn't give in and accept it.

He didn't have her.

He could have stayed if he wanted, he did everything he wanted nevertheless.

He was _Peter Pan_. But now, the only thing he really wanted was her to ask him to stay.

He wanted _her_ to want him to stay.

Because most times, when he was still between her legs, breathless and spent and satisfied, he had found himself looking up at her, searching for her eyes and he'd wished for her to look back at him.

But she didn't. She _didn't_. She never did. Wendy just kept her eyes closed.

 _You don't have her._

And he felt _that_ was slowly tearing him apart.

Peter breathes in, his fingers clenches around the sheets, crumpling them in his fist.

* * *

A part of him wanted to do it. To play right. He's always played fair after all, hasn't he?

Because otherwise what would be the point in playing, in _winning_ at all?

So, couldn't he offer the same fairness to her?

A part of him wanted to play fair.

Maybe he, _they_ could have everything.

Maybe he could be the father to her mother.

Maybe he could...

But she never, _never_ asked for him to stay.

So, night, after night, he disappeared into the shadows.

Because in the end that was the one thing left for him to do.

He would still have tormented nights, while she slept peacefully in the bed he made for her.

After all, that's how it was supposed to be, wasn't it?

Peter Pan could never really have Wendy Darling.

The night before had been different.

He knows it. Nothing happened.

And nothing happened because of him. Because he broke down.

He broke down into her arms. How ironic was that?

He'd wanted to break her for so long and she broke _him_.

They just slept. For once, they really just slept. Shared the same bed like real mother and father would do.

If he didn't feel so terribly lost, he'd thought he liked that. To spend the rest of his nights like that.

Holding her into his arms and just _sleep_.

Peter still looks down at Wendy's sleeping body.

He can't tear his eyes away from her.

His chest still feels heavy in a painful way, but there's something else, now, it's warm, soft.

His heart beat with rhythm of it.

And he hates it.

But deep down he knows it's too late.

 _He_ 's too late.

He's hers.

Peter Pan is utterly hers.

He's hers because he… _loves_ her.

* * *

He refuses to believe it.

He _refuses_ to believe it.

All those feelings, that...

Love?

Was it really _that_? Could it really be that?

No.

No.

It couldn't.

It couldn't.

It just could _not_.

There has to be a way.

There has to be something. Some magic, some remedy, _something_.

Something that could set him free.

He doesn't want any of that. He doesn't want any of those offensive, insulting, awful feelings.

He doesn't want to love her. He doesn't want to love anybody.

How on earth did this happen? _When_ did this happen?

It's only when his gaze slips down, that he notices it.

Wendy's chest raise and fall, under her steady, light breathing.

Her golden necklace shines lightly under the flickering sunlight of the first morning.

He reaches in, pulls at the chain until it slips away from her neck.

Wendy moves slightly in her sleep, but doesn't wake up.

Peter's hand contracts around the acorn unnaturally. He puts into his pocket before he knows some memories can flow back into his mind.

He grabs his belt, fasten it around his waist and leaves.

Without glancing back once.

* * *

He knows he should have never succumbed to those instincts, to that lust, that endless hunger he felt for her. He knew that.

But he wanted to posses her, he wanted _all_ of just felt like a visceral need to have her in every possible way.

He wanted her to be his in every possible way and if that was the adult way, so be it.

When the reality was, he didn't have the _slightest_ part of her.

* * *

When he can't fall asleep at night, when he doesn't dream, he doesn't have nightmare either, when he just cannot sleep, alone in his own bedroom, he thinks of the strangest things.

Crumbles of thoughts wander in his that don't come from his mind but right from his chest. He knows. Right from a heart that insists on thumping against his rib cage, telling him that maybe, maybe there's a solution. He already has found a solution. He's always had it. And he _must_ know that's the only one, the only way to be finally free.

So he just wonders.

What if… what if he told her?

What… what would she say?

Oh, _no_.

No, no, no, no, no.

That's the most abhorrent thing he can think of.

That's the worst thing that could happen. The worst thing he can imagine.

Neverland falling. _Him_ falling.

And still, he's too blind to realize, he's _already_ fallen.

* * *

Later at the camp, Wendy walks towards him.

She slips an hand over his arm casually, something she did times and times before.

After all the nights, all the years they spent together, her easy, soft touch was really nothing new to him.

This time at the mere feeling of her delicate fingers on his bare forearms, Peter flinches.

He pulls away from her touch like she is something poisonous, _burning_.

His back and shoulders stiffen, he turns to her and when she looks up at him, his eyes are the coldest that she remembers being in a long time.

But Wendy got used to that by now.

"Have you seen my necklace?"she asks, her voice weaker than she actually meant.

"What necklace?"

"My necklace. I had it last night and this morning was just… gone. I looked all around the room but I couldn't find it. Did you… did you take it?" She's not really accusing him, but the only logical explanation she came up with was that he must have took it because no else came close enough to her to be able to get it in so little time.

No lost boy was allowed into the treehouse and certainly no one was daring or stupid enough to challenge the rule Peter had set.

" _It's not_ _respectful_ _enough"_ he had proclaimed, voice all serious, but it actually was nothing but another of his masquerade, his green eyes glittered with selfishness and possessiveness like never before. Wendy was all his. And everybody should have know it. That was it.

"What if I took it?" Peter raises his chin.

"You did?" Wendy knits her eyebrows together, her forehead wrinkle with confusion. The remains of the night before still puzzled her "W-why would you do that?" There's something that sounds exactly like concern in her voice.

The way he was behaving was so confusing.

 _He_ was so confusing.

So volatile, so flickering, she never really knew where she stood with him.

"Because..." He swirls his fingers and her necklace magically appears in his hand. The acorn dangles from the golden chain. "I wanted my kiss back" he hisses and then he looks at her carefully, an awful dark glint dancing in his eyes and a wicked smirk on his lips.

She swallows the sudden knot in her throat.

Wendy knew things about kisses since a very young age.

You can't take a kiss back.

Once you've given is given. It belongs to the other person.

You can't _take_ a kiss back, that's not how it works.

That's why it's such a precious thing. The greatest _adventure_ of all.

But Peter never got it.

Peter _never_ got it. He couldn't.

Those memories, of her mother, of her sweet kiss in the right-hand corner of her mouth, they seemed almost ridiculous now. It's been so long ago.

Still, she could say something, she could _try_ to explain it to him, but the only thing that pops in her mind, now, the only thing she wants to do is asking _why_.

 _Why? Why? Why?_

Why is he so heartless? Why he is like that? How _can_ he be like that?

She should have known better. She tried to stop asking why a long time ago. But it seems she cannot really stop herself from wondering. How could he be so cruel to _her_ after all this time? After all the things they've done, after everything they...

Wendy feels the tears already burning in the corner of her eyes.

She breaths in, refusing to blink, refusing to let her tears slip down at any cost, she will not look hurt in front of him.

Not this time. _N_ _ot_ this time.

"Fine" she swallows, then licks her lower lip trying to get back what's left of her composure "But return me the necklace. That's mine and I'd like it back, please" she holds out her hand expectantly, trying to keep her gaze steady and her voice merely polite.

Peter laughs and it's like ice cutting trough soft, soft flesh.

He steps closer and Wendy can't help but shiver. She's knows him enough to know exactly when to be afraid. But she won't let the fear, the power he has, control her.

"No" he hisses. And it's that smirk still playing on his mouth that makes Wendy snap.

"I said give it _back_! That's mine!"she yells at last and tries to reach for the necklace still in his hand, but he's faster, taller and he just extend his arm and hangs the necklace just above her head completely out of her reach. "My mother gave it to me!" Wendy shouts, voice acute with exasperation and hurt. She hates herself for the way she let slip out a confession she really wished she had kept for herself.

He wasn't only taking his kiss back, he was also taking what she had left of her family back. What she treasured beacuse it was the only thing that still reminded her of her home, not only of her mother but also of her brothers whom, chances were, she would never see again.

A glow of gravity, regret (no, _not_ regret, Pan didn't feel regret) passes trough Peter's eyes. But it's just a flash. Soon his face turns to stone and he laughs again, cold and awful.

"Oh, that's _sweet,_ Wendy _._ But you've never been particularly sentimental, have you?"

She'd never tought it twice about flying away to Neverladn with his shadow leaving her family behind the first time, hasn't she?

Wendy breathes in, tears tremble bright like fire flames in her eyes.

Peter moves even closer to her, his steps precise and calculating.

"Everything here is _mine_ " he hisses, slowly, inches from her face."So if I want it," his fingers gripping the necklace tightly "I'll keep it."

Peter swirls his fingers and the necklace magically disappears in front of her eyes.

Wendy watches him, desperately fighting back the sobbing shaking her chest, her entire body.

It's only when the tears finally stream down her cheeks, that Peter smiles.

More razor-sharp than ever before.

* * *

He's never faced a thing like that before.

And he's faced pirates and wizards and witches from all sort of stranger realms. Some of the most dangerous ones.

This time he doesn't have a plan, a scheme, a strategy.

He's found the only game he can't play. And if can't play, he can't win.

It's his own feelings he's dealing with and it's exhausting.

He honestly thought that hurting her, making disappear what he did for her would make disappear all the rest too. All that _messiness_ of emotions _._

He thought that pushing her as far away as he could, cutting her off, would set him free from that tie he felt on his heart, would unfasten that string the kept him chained to her but…

It didn't.

It _didn't_.

He still wants still _feel_ s. He still feels for her.

And what he did only made it worse actually, because now she won't speak to him and he can't stand being away from her.

He can't stand not kissing her, not holding her, not _having_ her.

He doesn't have her. _Y_ _ou never had and probably never will._

 _She has you._

 _She has you. She has you._

He's hers. He's hers. He's hers.

So this is what it feels like.

What it feels to be defeated by the awful of all weaknesses.

 _Love._

He hates, hates, _hates_ that word.

Shadows, voices in his head never stop mocking him.

Peter Pan, centuries of mightiness and supremacy, defeated by but a little girl with nothing some warm eyes and a dreaming heart.

Centuries, no millenniums, of monarchy and power and here he is.

On his knees, defeated by the only thing he swore he never knew nothing about.

On his knees for, for loving a girl.

For loving _her_.

* * *

He dreams, one night.

He dreams about caging her up.

He feels himself smiling as he pushes her down and she falls on the ground on her hands and knees, a tumble of white fabric and swirl of blonde curls.

He smiles as he closed the door and she grasps the bars, helplessly.

 _You've flown long enough, haven't you, Wendy-bird?_

Peter wakes up suddenly, a gasp right on the top of his lips.

That didn't feel like a dream at all.

He blinks fast, his pupils widen but there's nothing but thick darkness around him.

He breaths out fast, his heartbeat still racing.

In the shadows of his own bedroom, he has no idea why the only thing that comes to his mind is that one time Wendy asked him to leave the bed lamp on, because she liked to fall asleep like that.

* * *

Peter sneaks again into the treehouse, a few nights later.

Wendy is already under the covers, waiting, _hoping_ to fall asleep.

She doesn't even turn to look at him.

He can only see her back, wrapped around the blankets, face hidden into the pillow.

She doesn't turn, doesn't move. She knows it's him. It's always him. No else is allowed.

"Go away. I don't wanna talk to you, I don't wanna even see you" she murmurs against the pillow.

He takes some steps and sits down on the bed anyway.

The noise of the mattress cracking under is weight suddenly makes her her anger rise so much her fists clench into the pillow.

How _dare_ he come to her after what he did? After the things he said?

 _I wanted my kiss back._

If he dares to come any closer, if he dares to touch her, she swears she's gonna hit him, fight him with force, if necessary. She's gonna push him away with all of her force. And she doesn't care of the consequences. She's never been pushed so far to use violence before but after what he did, after _everything_ he did, if there's someone who deserved that kind treatment was Pan.

She knows he cannot really love her, the things they've been doing had nothing to do with love, or romance or whatever girly dreams she might still be clinging on. No, he _cannot_ love, she's disillusioned enough by now but the hurt is not less. The hurt is _so_ deep.

Because she remembers when he gave that acorn, _his kiss,_ to her.

She remembers what he looked like, what his face, what his eyes were like, clear and bright, shining like stars. He had some sort of smile on his mouth, his cheeks tainted the slightest of shade of red, ( _red!_ _)_. And she never saw him like that before.

She remembers that boy who she gave her a thimble and who gave her an acorn in return. She's always refused to believe he was gone forever. She's never been so hopeless to think that boy had never really been there in the first place.

Or, maybe, now it was just time to let that go of that memory too.

Peter doesn't talk.

Honestly, he had no idea what to say to her.

 _I'm sorry_ _i_ s the only thing that for some reason comes to his mind and he won't say that.

He would _never_ say that.

Pan doesn't beg for forgiveness, doesn't beg for anything at all. He doesn't even _ask_ for things. He just takes. But this time that word is so clear into his mind, that he felt like he was the closest to it.

 _Please, forgive me_.

His need for her forgiveness was real and burned into his heart.

But as always, his apology was left unspoken.

He just places the necklace on the bedside table. The acorn button hits the wooden surface with a soft bump that echos through the silent walls of the bedroom.

Wendy holds her her breath, she buries her face into the pillow, and she still doesn't turn towards him.

Peter turns to look at her back and then he sighs, a deep, tired sound.

He turns back and waits.

Head fallen between his hands, Peter Pan _waits_.

* * *

He might have given his kiss back to her, but Wendy hadn't wore her necklace around her neck in days, in weeks.

It's still on the bedside table where he'd left it.

She had glanced it every night before going to sleep, her eyes sliding towards it automatically, but she never had the courage to pick it up and wear it around her neck ever again.

Night after night, she just climbed into a suddenly empty bed and tried to fall asleep without the tears wetting her cheek.

* * *

They don't talk for weeks.

Or at least that's Wendy's perception. (Whatever it is the equivalent of weeks in Neverland).

Peter just keeps himself busy with Felix and the Boys with... boy things, nothing a girl like her would ever like to be a part of, and Wendy just… well, she just stays away.

Most of days she doesn't even set foot outside her treehouse.

She sews, she reads, she picks up flowers from the forest around her her house.

She keeps herself busy with what she likes and none of those things involves Peter in any way.

It's fine

 _She_ is fine.

If he won't go to her, she won't go to him.

She's okay with it.

She can be free of him for a while, being away from him, keeping her distance can do nothing but good to her. He's been so nervous, so flickering, so desperately _lost_ in the past few days.

And Wendy got to learn it was better if she stayed away and gave him his space or he'll hurt her in the most terrible way. He'd _already_ done it. She didn't need a reminder. He certainly knew how to be the cruelest to her.

He didn't ask for forgiveness. Deep down, she knows he never will.

But what would be the point anyway? She _hadn't_ forgiven him. She knows that.

And being apart just feels good now.

It's like some kind of new taste of freedom she's always craved, she never stopped craving.

* * *

Wendy can hardly read him.

Peter is some kind of puzzle, a _riddle_ , exactly like the one he likes to make.

She never pretended to understand him.

But a part of her still wishes she could.

But a part of her still wished he'd let her.

Because no matter what, no matter all the hurt and the pain that still burned her, she _is_ worried.

She cares and she is worried for him.

She can't stop being worried for him.

* * *

He can't take it anymore.

That distance, that ice he tried to build between them and that Wendy so easily accepted it, so easily _fuel_ _ed._ He never liked being ignored by anybody, he's always been way too self-absorbed, too self-centered, simply too _selfish_ , but being ignored by her it's absolutely the worst.

Being away from her is just unbearable.

Especially when he was used to hold her in his arms _naked_ , to kiss every inch of her skin and make her moan his name like it was a song only for him to hear.

The memory of it just kept playing in the loneliness of his own bedroom night after night.

So one night, he sneaks into her treehouse again right before she was readying to go to bed.

Before Wendy can do anything, he _kisses_ her.

A hand entangled into her messy curls, another pressing into her hip, he pushes her against the wooden wall of the treehouse, trapping her with his body, he kisses her like he can't stop.

Wendy is small, short, so much shorter than he is, it's just so easy for him to catch her and press her against the wall.

The feeling of her body against his is enough to make him whimper against her lips, already panting.

He'd been tormented by only the memory of it for _so_ long.

His lips are rough and biting, his tongue demanding and moving fast, and for a moment Wendy is sure she can't _breathe_ anymore.

* * *

Peter Pan always thought that he knew darkness like the back of his hand.

If there was a thing he knew all about it was darkness.

He _was_ darkness.

But this… all _this_ , he has no idea how to even name it. All the things he find himself _wanting,_ craving.

It seemed like a whole new level of darkness.

All the things he wanted from her, all the things he wanted to do to her, he same things she did to him.

All his life he's always felt like he was swimming _comfortably_ right in the middle of darkness, but now he knew he was sinking, diving completely into it and somehow, he wanted to take Wendy down with him, because _yes_ , she deserved a taste of her own medicine.

Part of him wants so badly to make her pay, punish her in some way.

Because she has no right to do that to him.

Make him want her so desperate much. Drive him _insane_.

He wants to punish her and take her like she is _his_.

 _She isn't. She isn't. She isn't._

Part of him wants to just have her once again. (And again and again and _again_.)

And he doesn't care if it's just for one more night. (Because for some irrational reason he couldn't shake the thought it might be the last time she let him in her bed.)

And he doesn't care if it would only make things worst than they already are, because he has no idea, no _bloody_ idea of what he's doing. How to deal with all the things he's feeling, all the things she's _making_ him feel.

He's no idea of how to fix himself, how to fix _them_.

Because he _loves_ her, he _bloody_ loves her and she is not his.

He doesn't even know what she feels for him, if she _does_ love him...

He moves his mouth to nip at her neck. He bites down hard, squeeze his eyes close just to shut his train of thoughts.

The hopeless moan threatening to come out of his lips at the mere thought of her not loving him back.

Wendy gasps."Wait..." Peter's lips are hot and open against the side of her neck and she trembles in his arms, "Wait, Peter..."she tries again but but his names comes out like a whimper and Peter doesn't stop. His brain barely registers her voice.

His hand moves down fast, his fingers push her nightgown up frenetically, reaching for the bare skin of her thighs and pulling at the border of her knickers. This time, Wendy's nails dig into his shoulders "Stop!" she protests and then she pushes her legs closed abruptly. His hand slips away from her inner thigh, but his lips doesn't leave her skin.

"I said _stop_!" she cries, pushing at his chest, she hits her palms on it hard, and Peter finally pulls away.

Wendy looks at him stunned.

For a fraction of a moment with the flush on his cheeks, his breaths coming out in short pants and his hair all messy, Peter actually looks more shocked and upset than she does.

When she manages to catch a glimpse of his gaze, there's something broken in his eyes. But his entire face hardens instantly.

"Are you… are rejecting me?" he asks, incredulous, something completely dark and monstrous passing in his eyes.

" _Yes_!" Her voice is more high pitched than she intends, but she doesn't hold back her words. "Yes, I am! Because… you've been acting weird, you didn't talk to me for days, you didn't even look at me in the eye and then... then you just…" she stops suddenly, her breath still short.

She sights, pulling away some curls falling over her eyes, her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

She stares at him, unable to give a voice to the chaos in her thoughts.

Peter feels his knees getting weak, like standing there in front of her now was just too much.

His mouth twitches.

He stares back at her, motionless.

* * *

He hasn't touched her.

He hasn't touched her since that night, he hasn't touched her ever again.

He hasn't touched her and she'd missed it. She had missed _him_. She had to shut her eyes and brain close at night, pulling her blanket over her head and biting her lip not burst into tears when she was alone in her empty, always, _always_ , empty bed.

She's _frightened_ to realize the intensity with which she'd missed his kisses, his hands, _him_.

But she doesn't want it to happen like that. She wants to know first. She wants to understand what made him act like that. She wants to understand him. Even though she still hasn't forgiven nor forgotten what he'd done, the way he deliberately had wanted to hurt her when he took his acorn back.

"Peter" Wendy calls, slowly, she takes a step towards him "What's the matter? What's wrong?" her voice and eyes soft, "You can tell me" Hoping she could make him actually open up with her this time. Hoping she could talk to him trough gentleness because that was her nature, that's what she _believed_ in and she wasn't going to change her mind about it.

He keeps staring at her, his adam's apple trembles, but he cannot swallow down.

 _I can't, I can't and I won't._

His eyes are as stubborn as the ones of a little child, but they shake nevertheless.

She watches him as his jaw constricts.

She reaches out her hand to caress his cheek. "You're clearly upset" she murmurs gently. Her fingers barley brush his skin that Peter slaps her hand away forcefully.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me what I feel" he hisses to her face, voice rumbling like the one of a beast.

Wendy flinches, her eyes wetting, _burning._

She instinctively withdraws.

Now _she_ is upset, way _more_ than upset, but it seems like nothing compared to what she sees into his eyes.

Hurt. So clear, so _raw_ , she's left paralyzed.

Hurt and also some sort of void.

An _abyss_ she's never noticed, never saw before.

Peter is out of the treehouse before she can blink twice.

* * *

He feels that same _something_ wetting his eyes.

His fists clench until his knuckles turn white.

His lungs constrict until his breath comes out in shallow pants and he can't do nothing but gasping.

He can't blink. His entire vision is foggy.

Even from there, he can hear as she starts to cry, the sound hushed but still completely heartbreaking,

It's only then that Peter blinks.

His eyelashes flutter, once, twice, and then, two single teardrops fall on the muddy ground of the forest.

* * *

 **Sorry about all the angst guys, but I guess that's how Pan and Wendy-bird roll here.**

 **Hope you all had fun, anyway! :P**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yes, I finally managed to update this thing.**

 **Forgive the lateness please, this was an _hell_ of a chapter. **

**(You guys are amazing, by the way. All of you. You're so patient and you don't deserve to wait so long. I'm just so awful at serializing. That's why I never write long fics.)**

 **I had to work out a lot of stuff in this chapter and I couldn't manage to split it in two. But I hope you'll like to read something longer.**

 **Be careful, there's angst and a little bit of darkness 'cause when it comes to Peter and Wendy that's the package-deal but I guess you already know that by now.**

 **Also, keep in mind the M rating and that this story is still an AU for the whole Rumples' father mess.**

 **Here's the little corner where I answer the guest review:**

 **To the guest: thanks! All the support is very much appreciated, since I'm not very familiar with long fics. I'm doing my best. I hope you like the story. I think I know where I'm going with this now.**

 **Thank you all for sticking/bearing with me. Enjoy!**

* * *

Peter Pan created Neverland from the darkest nook of his imagination.

He watched it coming to life before his eyes, meeting, following his every wish and desire.

He shaped it form his hands, from his _heart,_ and rightfully became the one and only ruler, master of the island of his dreams.

Every blow of wind, every wave of the ocean, every sound, every leaves in the forest, every star in the sky was molded from his mind and soul and _belonged_ to him.

And once someone set foot on Neverland somehow they connected with it, with _him_.

Wendy's arrival had been different in many ways, but her connection to him wasn't.

She was his.

She _felt_ his. So, she belonged to him too.

Maybe the same way the Lost Boys belonged to the notes of his pipes.

* * *

The tip of Wendy's fingers brushes over the acorn button pendant. Her necklace lies on her nightstand shines with gold under the first morning sunlight, her fingers curls but her hand does not really close over it.

 _Everything_ _here is mine._

The memory of his voice is something deep, rough, completely _hi_ _s_ _._

Wendy knew it.

There was no need for him to remind her.

Wendy knew it very well.

 _Everything_ _here is mine._ _So if I want it, I'll_ _keep_ _it._

She still _feared_ to think that's exactly what he had done with _her_.

Because that would mean he wanted her in the first place.

* * *

She let go of everything for him.

She let go of everything she thought she wanted for herself, everything she wanted to _believe_ in.

Her rules.

 _It's not proper for a_ _young_ _lady_ _to walk_ _undressed_ _like that around boys,_ _Wendy!_

 _It's_ _barely_ _my_ _undergarments_ _,_ _m_ _other!_ _And it's only John and Micheal!_

 _I don't care if_ _it's only your brothers, Wendy,_ _they're still boys._

Her future.

 _I think she needs to stop play_ _ing_ _around with her brothers, Mary._ _I think she needs her own room._

 _Y_ _es_ _,_ _you_ _might be_ _right, Georg_ _e,_ _but…_ _she's still a child._ _Let's not take that away from her_ _just_ _yet. They grow_ _up_ _so fast._ _Sometimes it makes me wish she could stay like that... forever._

A family of her own.

And not that masquerade that Peter liked to play with the Lost Boys.

 _How many times I_ _told you_ _to stop_ _playing_ _around_ _the house in such an inconsiderate and ungraceful manner_ _,_ _Wendy_ _!_

 _B_ _ut_ _F_ _ather_ _,_ _we_ _were only playing pirates!_ _Y_ _ou know_ _how much I_ _love playing_ _it_ _w_ _ith_ _John_ _and_ _Micheal!_

 _You're not like your brothers anymore, Wendy. You're soon to be a lady._

 _Mother..._

 _You'll never find a good husband if you keep acting like that, my darling._

 _A…_

Her husband.

 _A… husband?_

 _Yes, a husband, Wendy._

 _What-what am I supposed to do with a husband?_

Her life.

 _What's a husband for?_

She let go of _everything_ for him.

* * *

As time passed and stayed the same, Wendy got to know just pieces of him.

The boy who ruled Neverland with way more authority than the most cruel monarch of any kingdom but still the boy who came to her almost every night.

The boy who just looked at her and made her cheeks flush, _burn,_ and her heart drum inside her rib-cage permanently. And every heartbeat pulsed with magic and wonder and _life_. A different life.

And if he could do that to her, there must be a part of him, she guessed, he never showed to anybody. And she never thought she could be a lucky one. And after all she saw about him? Who would call her _lucky_ anyway?

For some reason she liked to hope, clench her finger around that hope he had some sort of different side, something if not soft or tender, still _innocent_ , that of course he would never show, not willingly.

Because after all, he was the same boy who gave her an acorn, when she had asked for a _kiss_.

Certainly, she had time to show him what a kiss was.

But soon, there had been only darkness.

And Wendy was just left alone wondering, how _much_ darkness could he still hide inside of him?

Of course he was forceful, brute even sometimes.

The first time he took her, he'd bitten her lip till he drew blood.

She could never forget that. How much it _hurt_.

Not exactly physical pain. Sure, there had been a shot of that, acute and intense, but it had gone away eventually and faster than she actually thought.

No, it had been a different kind of pain. It was some kind of sorrow mixed with something else entirely different, a lot more powerful and a lot more… _consuming._

A lot more pleasurable too.

Because it's been what she wanted for a very long time.

Even with the metallic taste of his blood (because she bit him back) on the tip of her tongue and his hips pushing up fiercely in the space between her legs.

* * *

He never, ever forced her. As much as cocky he was, he barely knew how to do _that_.

He knew as much as she did about _tha_ _t_ _-_ physical desire, lust- and that knowledge was close to nothing.

 _Peter_ had no experience whatsoever.

 _Pan_ was all instinct and pulsing desire, but it had been enough for her.

She'd wanted that.

She'd wanted _him_.

And even if it took her all the time in the world to accept it -time didn't flow in Neverland- she'd wanted to be his and only his.

And in that moment every thrust of his hips had screamed _mine, mine, mine_.

Maybe it hadn't happened how she was taught to, how it was _supposed_ to, the _right_ way, with her husband, but she wouldn't take it back.

Because in that moment she _had been_ his and only his. And the thought of a husband, the thought of anything else had disappear from her mind in a cloud of nothing when all she could feel was _him_.

Because in her heart there was _only_ him.

And in that moment she knew she _loved_ him.

And well, that was the whole point of doing that for her.

But for him?

She had no idea what it meant to him. Nothing? She knew he couldn't understand something like that. He couldn't feel the same but…

But...

She _remember_ _ed._

She remembered it so well.

Not just the bleeding on her lip, but the as well scarlet marks of fingerprints on her hips. His fingers dug hard into her tender flesh, as he had kissed a pattern over her chest, to her belly and then down, _down_. His hands holding her sides tight, his fingernails scratching her skin.

Then, he had looked up at her, green eyes darker than ever, he stuck his tongue out and licked the skin above her hipbones, like he wanted to soothe the wounds _he_ had inflicted her.

Out of instinct, she had dug her nails into his back, in return, and her marks didn't leave his pale skin for _days._

And the _knowledge_ , the mere thought she was the one who marked him like that, was enough to make her blush every single time she had met his eyes over the fire at the camp the next evenings. Like the memory of what she had done, what they had done wasn't _enough_.

Like the memory of him, on top of her, _inside_ of her, and the memory of how he'd fallen asleep, naked and splayed over the white sheets of her bed wasn't enough.

Like the memory of how later, he had her again -because he wouldn't be denied of any of the things he wanted and that _she_ wanted too- wasn't enough.

* * *

The entire treehouse looked empty.

Without him, it just looked _empty_.

What she might have called it home but _only_ in her heart -not in her mind but her heart didn't listen and call it home- with his lips on hers and his arms around her, she might have called it home once, now was devoid of any warmness.

Without him, with just the feeble yellow light of the lamp that she still kept on at night, the bedroom, the entire room seemed different. From another time, another space.

Cold, empty, just like her heart. Like _his_ heart.

Wendy's lips part and she can't fight the sobs escaping her mouth.

She cannot do this. Not again. Not _again_. She cannot think, she cannot feel.

She cried herself to sleep the past nights. _Every_ single night since he's been there the last time.

She hasn't spoke to Peter ever since and she had no intentions to but she needed to get away from that room at least during the day.

She takes a breath, tries to calm down her nerves.

Finally, she turns her back and makes her way over the ladder, then down into thickness of the forest.

Another lonely and empty day ahead of her.

* * *

Peter was no mere boy but Wendy really, _truly,_ feared Pan only a couple times.

She could count them on her fingers if she tried hard enough.

She might have been a fool in the past when it came to him, but she wasn't _such_ a fool.

She knows what it feels like to be frightened by him.

She knows that irrational terror, cold and unsettling, that made her entire body shiver and make her want to scream and cry.

And then the worst of all the feelings settling down, the realization of being completely _helpless._

All of those times she feared him, it was because of what he could to her family.

She feared him when he threatened her brothers' lives. When he threatened to kill them in front of her eyes. _All_ of them.

One night, while all the boys were crying in their sleep and wished for their parents, she told him she wanted to go home too. She told him she missed her house in London. She told him she missed Baelfire. That even if he didn't' let her go she would have find a way to go back home someway. To see her family, the entirety of her family, and that included Baelfire too.

His face was like transfigured when he looked at back her.

 _You missed you brothers, Wendy-bird? You know, I've always been indecisive about which one I would have killed first, but now, now I am not anymore. Baelfire, first. Your beloved Baelfire, first._ His words were like knives and his eyes colder than prickles of ice.

She'd never heard him spoke with such a tone before. Not with her.

It was like he was disgusted she could care for her real family.

That she could _love_ someone like Baelfire.

Like he was disgusted she even _had_ a family. Like he couldn't stand the fact she still even thought of her brothers.

Like he was… jealous? But it couldn't be that, could it?

She could never figure the way his mind worked. She could never imagine that to him they were just _o_ _thers._ Other _boys_ that weren't him, who had a place in her life, in her heart.

While he… he didn't.

She made him envy and hate them to pieces.

Especially Baelfire, who wasn't even her real brother and he should mean _nothing_ to her, and still, he seemed to have so much more of her affection than what he could barely dream for.

Maybe it had been the first time but most definitely not the last, Wendy thought Peter Pan _wasn't_ a boy.

Someone like him couldn't be _human_.

All of those times Wendy feared him completely, it was because of what he could to her family.

She hasn't really given much thought of what he could do to her.

She knew his magic was great but he always turned everything into a game, even death.

He had told her a couple times. He had lectured her with that mischievous light in his eyes, about all the _oh so amusing_ ways he could play the game of _torture and murder,_ as he apparently liked to call it.

But it all seemed just that, a new game to play rather than actual threats, when it came to her.

A new game to play and nothing more.

Then, later, they had found a _brand-new_ game to play. Together.

And for a long time, everything seemed forgotten and more frozen in time than things already were every day in Neverland.

He _slept_ with her, he obviously had no intention of doing anything so _bad_ to her, was he?

Less of all kill her.

He told her it was tired of her crying one night.

He told her that if she didn't wanna stay in Neverland, if he didn't like her treehouse, he was going to give her a good reason to cry.

A _very_ good reason.

He locked her up in a cage of stick.

" _You've flown long enough haven't you, Wendy-bird?"_

Birds like her belonged in a cage, eventually. That's how things were meant to be.

But it didn't last.

Not more than one night.

She didn't remember very much, with her eyes filled with tears, she'd curled up in a ball in a corner and cried until sleep came.

He had free her the night after.

He had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her out. The cage had disappeared, because he didn't want it to be anymore.

He always thought he could make disappear mistakes like that, wiping them with a gesture of his hand, with his _magic_.

But Wendy didn't have magic.

And in her world, in anybody's else world, it didn't work like that.

She was used to his switches in the mood by now. She knew how volatile he was. How easily he could change his mind and forget things, letting them slide off of him, like they had never even touched him.

Now, like that night and many times before, she has no idea what's going on with him, what's going on with _them_.

And now, the only thing she has left is the coldness, the fear and the _nightmares_.

* * *

Peter's eyes are green.

Wendy knows.

(The brightest in the morning under the sunlight, the darkest when he's on top of her and looks up at her beneath his eyelashes.)

Peter's eyes are _green_.

She knows.

But somehow she sees yellow. Yellow eyes refulgent and flashing in darkness of the forest.

He appears from the trees, like he's been waiting there all this time.

Pan never looked _entirely_ boyish to the appearance.

Sure, his mouth,, his hair, his face, everything had a boyish innocence so perfectly crafted into his every elfish feature, but if you stared long enough you could _see_. The monster, the _beast,_ howlingunderneath. You just had to stare long enough to see. The sharpness of his teeth, the wild shimmer in his eyes, the swirl of his lips, the callosity of his hands. There was something demoniac, godly but in terrifying way, in his aspect that he couldn't entirely hide. Not if he didn't really wish for it.

In that moment, he was like he turned. Like a werewolf tuning under the full moon.

With his crazed glimmering eyes and a thin, cutting smirk on his mouth, he takes some heavy steps towards her. He just looked like a wolf ready to attack.

And he _did_.

"Peter, what-" before Wendy could finish whatever question she meant to ask, Pan shoves an hand inside her chest and rips her heart out.

Wendy collapses on the ground, a sharp gasp echoing above the sound of the sleeping forest.

Peter just breathes in.

Then looks down at the red, bright heart in his hand.

It would be so easy, _so_ easy.

His fingers would close around her pulsing heart and in seconds she would not feel anything anymore.

And he would be left _alone_.

He would be left alone.

To _feel_.

To miss her and wished her back from the deaths with a desperation he knew it probably would have driven him mad, broken, _killed_ him too.

And he would have never allowed that.

That's why he could never do it.

Kill her, kill her, kill her.

Even if the thought of killing her had always been present in the back of his mind since the first time he met her, lingering there like a beast rumbling and shaking to be free, groaning at him to get rid of that _bloody_ liability once and for all.

Kill her, kill her, kill her.

He could _never_ do it.

He squeezes her heart in his palm, just to hear her cry.

To hear what she sounds like when she's hurting, she's really _hurting_.

To hear what she sounds like when she screams for _help_.

"Peter…" she gasps, completely breathless and pained. "Peter… _please._ " Her pleads comes off broken and completely weak.

Pan barely draws his eyes down, to look at her.

She's on her knees, her hands clenching desperately at her chest, pleading him, struggling for breathing, struggling for her _life_.

While he has her heart in his hands.

And he feels like he has _nothing_.

He has a crown on his head, an entire realm at his feet, hundreds of loyal devotees, he has Wendy Darling's _beating_ heart in the palm of his hand and he could crash it at his command, in a eye-bat, and still, he feels like he has _absolutely_ nothing.

And that should be enough to end her life right there. Just because she _dared_ to make him feel that way, but… he can't.

He _can't._

 _Everything here is mine. So if I want it, I'll keep it._

He doesn't have her heart. Red and bright in his palm.

It's not _his_. It's never, ever been his.

Because you can't steal a heart. Well, you _can_ but for it to belong to you it has to be given freely. She taught him that. The same way she tried to teach him you couldn't take back a kiss. But he wasn't good at learning.

Pan gives her just another look at Wendy. She's panting, crawling on the ground.

His bottom lip trembles for a second. Then, he pushed her heart back into her chest.

He leaves and doesn't turn away.

He doesn't hold out his hand to get her on her feet.

(Like he'd have done so many times before because she was a lady, wasn't she? The _Wendy_ _l_ _ady._ And he _so_ liked to pretend to be a gentleman.)

He doesn't even think to say something.

(That he's _sorry,_ _s_ _orry,_ _sorry_ _._ )

Ad he most definitely _doesn't_ wish to come back, pull her into his arms and ask for _her_ mercy.

 _Forgive me._

 _Please._

 _Please._

 _Please, forgive me._

* * *

Peter wakes up abruptly with an horrible, unsettling feeling inside his chest.

He opens his eyes in the blackness and wooden walls of his bedroom.

Fuzzy words ramble inside his head.

 _Everything here is mine._

It takes him some time to recognize it's his own voice.

 _Everything here is mine._

Everything, but _one_ thing.

Even his subconscious was mocking him now? _T_ _errific._

He takes some deep breaths, trying to calm down his panting.

His eyelashes are damp and his forehead wet.

It should not be this hard to breath.

He can't go on like this.

She cannot do that to him. She _cannot_. He will not let her. He will not.

His head is a mess once again.

There's anger that is still there, burning underneath his fingertips.

Such an anger because he's _fallen._ He's fallen for her and he still can't wrap his mind around it.

He had resigned ot the idea becasue what else was left?

He had to admit it. He _had to_. Even if every part of his very being sill struggled like something _insane_ at the mere idea. He loved her.

He never really knew what to do with the desires of what was beating into his rib-cage. He never knew how to use it. His heart. But he couldn't fight against himself. He had no weapons to use. And he would loose form the beginning. And he would _never_ lose. He would never settle with failure.

There are questions, the same old questions he can't find an answer to. Not to save his life.

How could that happen to him?

 _Why?_

 _Why?_

And then, there's that one thought still imprisoned in his mind.

 _Forgive me._

 _Please, forgive me._

(No. No. It was _just_ a nightmare.)

He presses a hand against his shut eyes, rubbing his face.

He still can't say if dreaming of ripping Wendy's heart out it's half as bad as the time he _actually_ locked her up.

* * *

He never had quite nights.

He lived among dreams and nightmares all together since he became Neverland's king.

He didn't fear sleepiness nights. The price of Neverland's magic could have been a lot higher.

He got used to a lot of things, more easily than he imagined. He didn't mind staying up at night. _All_ night sometimes. Sleep was for the _weak_ , he used to think, careless like the child he was.

And besides, recently he had found unexpected but certainly entertaining ways to keep his nights busy. (Until that damn love got into it.)

Nightmares are nothing new to him.

He had them since he could remember. Since the first night he slept in Neverland, alone, with nothing but the sound of the wind between the trees around him and the first a new born sun dying in the sky to leave place to the night, dark and cold.

But now...

He's tormented, _obsessed_ now.

He keeps having the same dream all over again. Night after night.

An endless cycle he has no idea how to stop.

Apparently, seeing Wendy's broken face behind the bars of the cage _he_ _'_ d locked her in wasn't enough punishment.

Like it wasn't enough to have him writhing in his mattress and struggling for breath.

But he knows he will end this no matter what.

He has every intent to talk to her.

* * *

The next night Peter steps into her treehouse, stopping right in front of the end of her bed.

Wendy is standing next to it, her back turned.

He could count the steps- that bloody, everlasting _distance-_ between them from there.

He didn't set foot in her bedroom since… _forever_. (Wendy would smile at the thought, if only she didn't know that in Neverland that it was one of the things that was completely _true._ )

In all honesty, he didn't _dare_ to. The weight of the last time he had been there was crushing him down so strongly, he barely could imagine what just lying his eyes on her again might feel like.

He expects her to kick him out. Maybe even greeting him with a sharpness in her voice and cold glare and then kick him out.

But when she finally gets aware of his presence, Wendy just turns around and talks.

"I had a dream some nights ago." she tells him, eyes meeting his. Her face and her voice are quite. "I kept having it for quite some nights, actually. Always the same dream." she continues.

Her face is pallid and tired, not so different than his, but she is _quite_. "We were out, in the jungle, when you… you shove a hand into my chest and ripped my heart out and I… I fell on the ground…" His eyebrows furrows, alarmed at the familiarity of her words.

That wasn't possible. That didn't make any sense. She couldn't have had his dream, could she?

Because she just described it.

"Then, what happens?" he asks, swallowing down with difficulty.

"I don't know. I woke up. I always wake up after that." She stares at him and he flinches with the effort of not giving away his anxiousness. "It was _odd_." she continues. "Of course, it was just a dream, but... I don't know, tt was like I was there but at the same time I wasn't really… there. I cannot explain. It was different. It felt different that any other dreams I ever had"

Wendy rarely had dreams since she stayed in Neverland, or maybe she did but she couldn't remember them when she woke up.

All the dreams she had in London, the dreams _of_ Neveland were so much powerful and so vivid and real. It was like once you set foot on the island you didn't need to dream like that anymore because there you could just make your dream happened. But it worked differently for nightmares and Wendy knew a lot about nightmares.

She dreamnt of home, sometimes. Of flying back to her nursery in London, the window was still open, her mother was there, waiting for her. She dreamnt of her being into her loving arms.

But that was the strangest dream she'd ever experienced. It terrified her. She didn't feel like herself in that dream, like it didn't belong to her and that felt so strange but it _terrified_ her.

She didn't know what he had in mind when he saw him standing in her bedroom again, but she didn't bother to ask. Those nightmares shocked her to the core and she knew he was the only one who could give her the answers she was looking for.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I… I just wanted to know if you ever heard about something like that, if you knew something…" she stops, uncertain. "You... you know about that?" she asks him, direct, looking at him straight in the eyes. Peter doesn't answer her. His gaze elusive. She searches his eyes anyway and her pupils widen at the harsh way he suddenly stares back at her, hard and with his jaw clenched. "You _do_ know about it." she realizes. "Is this your doing? You put things into my mind?" she just tosses all her questions at him, unrelenting.

Wendy didn't know what Pan was able to do exactly. His power was great, his magic was powerful, surely, but she couldn't tell _what_ he was actually able to do and what not.

Could he intrude himself into her mind? Into her dreams? If so...

How _dare_ he invade her privacy like that? After he'd pushed her away so carelessly, after he'd shut her out completely from what was going on in _his_ head.

"You _sneak_ _ed_ into my dreams?" she shrieks, her breath suddenly rapid and her voice ardent with indignation.

"It wasn't _your_ dream" Peter hisses back, irritated now. He swallows down that red-blooded rage he felt burning at the sudden way she jumped to conclusions and blame it all on him.

Wendy just wrinkles her eyebrows in confusion."What do you mean it wasn't mydream, of course it was…" she interrupts herself mid-sentence then, she looks up at his face, searches his eyes, again. They are still rough and uneasy. Then, she gets it. "It was yours" she breathes out. Peter barely nods.

"Why did I have it then? How… how is that possible? How could I see it?" she asks him, but Peter doesn't say anything.

He is still not sure himself.

As much as he'd like to have all the answers and he proud himself on it, this time he doesn't.

She could have had just the same dream as his. But from what he heard her telling him, he could swear she did have exactly _his_ dream. Like she peaked right into his sleeping mind.

"I'm not sure." he tells her, his features stiffened. "It might have been an accident. With dreams… magic works differently. But certainly, _I_ didn't make it happen on purpose, it was unintentional."

He certainly hadn't been focus on his magic lately. His past nights had been... _awful._

He tried to stay away from her for his and hers sake too. He didn't trust himself around her. Not when he was in such a state. As much as he hated it to feel like that in the first place. And his emotions, the side of them that were linked to his magic, that could produce it and affecting it, were doing so in unpredictable ways.

Evidently, his mind had found a connection with her somehow. Like he needed to feel her near him no matter what. He was so used to her presence in his life that that time apart was just unnatural to him. So when he slept, when all his defenses where down, his magic had found the only place he could to keep her close. Even if it meant showing her a piece of his most inner, terrifying subconscious.

"Coming from you, I find it really hard to believe."she retorts, her eyes glacial now.

"Excuse me?"

"You do _nothing_ unintentional. Maybe you wanted it, maybe you wanted me to see just that, maybe you're just as _sick_ as that!" she shouts.

Peter clenches his fists hard, he stays silent but his lips twitch.

"Why would you do that? What did you want to prove?" she keeps going. "I already know what you're capable of and what you can do to me. She shoots him a burning glare. "I already know _what_ you are." When he still doesn't talk, she drops her eyes away like she couldn't bear to look at him any longer.

Peter grits his teeth, inhales sharply.

He couldn't stand this.

The way she stood, so far away from him, the way she looked at him, the ways she _talked_ to him.

She didn't trust him.

She never really did. _Never._ He knew that.

She didn't _believe_ him.

And he couldn't stand it.

She didn't believe him.

Not even now, that he didn't do anything. Anything at all. (A distant part of his mind would tell him that perhaps he deserved it. He had played with her and betrayed her so too many times. Why would she trust him that he meant no harm now? But he wasn't willing to listen to it.)

He just couldn't stand it it.

Knowing she saw his dreams, his nightmares, _that_ nightmare, that she saw that _part_ of him, made him feel exposed like never before. And still she couldn't believe him.

She saw him bare, she had him, hopeless and naked in her bed. Bloody hell, she had in her mouth. She had him underneath her. She _had_ him. She has him. She still has _all_ of him.

And still she didn't believe him, she didn't even _think_ of doing it for a moment.

He never lied about who he was. Not to her.

As much as he enjoyed his games and pretenses, he never lied about his nature.

How could he? He was who he was. Flaws and all. _M_ _onstrosity_ and all.

But actually showing her? Oh no, that was an entire different story and he never planned to do that.

He could admit to himself he wanted her close to him always, but certainly, he would never want it to happen in such a way. Sharing his inner demons and deepest fear with her so she could run away from him and lose her forever? He wasn't _stupid._ Even if by the way she spoke to him, she might think him so.

* * *

He was getting _so_ angry.

So angry at her.

That's what she really thought of him? That he was _sick._ A sick, homicidal monster.

While he… he _loved_ her.

He loved her and… and he was so mad at her and at himself because he had fallen for her, she _made_ him fall for her, and he couldn't even _try_ to stop it.

And now the only thing he wanted was to make her fall for him too and he had no idea how to do it.

"You really think I'd _ever_ want to let you see that?" he raises his voice, he can't bite back the words, bitter and harsh. He feels his cheeks heating up.

"I don't know!" Wendy yells back. "Maybe not. After all, there's only so _much_ you're willing to share, isn't there?" She holds his gaze and keeps her chin up. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glittering with tears that she just won't let spill down.

"I could say the same about you" Peter hisses between his teeth.

Her eyes widens. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said." he takes a step forward, towards her. She draws back, instinctively. "There's only so much _you_ are willing to share" he looks down at her chest, to the point when her heart was beating. Then, he pauses, looking back at her and letting her grasp the meaning of his words. Wendy stumbles back. In the middle of their argument, she'd delved herself in a corner beside her bed, her nightgown was almost brushing the wall. "You guard your heart like… like there's a _dragon_ out there ready to steal it any moment."

Wendy flinches, then makes an offended sound, like a snort. Her cheeks were burning.

He was _unbelievable_.

Was he really accusing _her_ of having her guard up when it came to him?

"And can you blame me? After everything you've done to me, after... after what I just found out, I certainly have good reasons to!"

There _was_ someone ready to steal her heart from her. She just wouldn't call it a _dragon._

"I already told you I don't know how that happened. I didn't _want_ to! It was an accident." he is shouting too now. "I would _never_ let you see that. Magic involving dreams is different. You can't always control it, not the way you want!"

He certainly couldn't control it in his recent state of mind. But that admission was way beyond what he's ever wished to reveal to her. That him, Peter Pan wasn't in complete control of his own magic when it came to her? Not a thing he would confess to his worst enemy.

She just looks at him, at loss for words, eyes lost.

Seeing the way she still kept her distance, _withdraws_ when he tried to come closer to her, like she needed to protect herself from him, was paining him.

That look in her eyes was one of the reason, he couldn't let himself open up to her and embrace what his heart was screaming for for weeks now.

He _never_ wanted to see that look in her eyes. He feels like something prickled him in the pit of his stomach.

Peter sights, raw and between clenched teeth.

He just needed to keep _pretending._ Pretending that the fact that she _did_ fear him now and maybe was even disgusted by what she saw of him, didn't touch him. He needed to regain at least some of his self-control.

That was not at all why he came here. To _fight_ with her. Or to push her away even more than he already did.

Maybe, he still could say something that mattered. Something that could make her believe him just a little bit.

"I don't…" he struggles, unable to voice his thoughts. He wets his lip, then takes a breath and fixes his green eyes on hers. "I don't wanna hurt you" he tells her.

"Everything you do hurts me!" she yells promptly. "And knowing that's exactly what you want, that it's your very, exact intention..." her voice breaks into an aching sob, that she can't choke back into her throat.

"It's not, I swear, it's _not_." he tells her, heartfelt, trying to step closer to her again, trying to make her see that he's sincere.

He almost reaches for her hand. But he doesn't. He's not sure of touching her.

He's not ready to actually _feel_ her getting away from him. He just hopes his words can be enough. "It might have been before but it's not anymore."

" _Before?"_ she _cries,_ looking at him with shocked, wide eyes. "Before what? Because I don't recall a single moment, and I think my memory unlike yours is pretty good, when you haven't done something to make cry, to make me feel as miserable as I could be." Her chest is heavy now, from her shouting and from the effort not to just burst into tears in front of him. "So before _what_ , Peter? Did something change?"

He looks at her face, tears still glistening in the corner of her eyes and some of her blonde curls framing her redden cheeks and he _knew_ it.

Now, now it was the time to _tell_ her. To confess everything and finally be done with it, and maybe if he was lucky to even find some sort of peace after everything he'd been trough.

But he couldn't.

He _couldn't_.

His eyes suddenly are as watered as hers.

Quickly, he blinks and he looks down, away from her.

* * *

 _Before what?_ She asked him.

 _Before what?_

Before he realized the had _fallen in love_ with her, before he realized that he _did_ love her. _So much._

Not in such a different way he loved Neverland and magic and power.

Peter cannot lift his head up.

So Wendy talks again."You cannot tell me the fact that you sleep in my bed ever made a difference, because we both know it didn't, so... I really don't understand"

If anything, the fact that he slept with her had only made everything more complicated.

She was at complete loss. She just watches him closing his eyes and sights deeply.

He fights back the urge to bring his hand up and rub his face. As that gesture alone would be enough to wipe away all of the distress he felt.

He opens back his eyes and just stares at her.

His mouth opens but nothing comes out.

His tongue is like stuck.

For the first time he experienced what it was like not to be able to find the words he wanted to say.

Peter Pan might be the boy who could fly.

But he wasn't the type to jump into the void if he didn't know he had a safety net. And _he_ was the one who placed it there, right where he wanted it.

Right where it would have caught him.

But if he couldn't say those words out loud maybe he could show her.

"Let me stay here tonight" he says, taking that step forward that was missing in the little space between them and standing right in front of her.

"What?" she asks, breathless.

So _that_ was what he was after? _Of course._

"I wanna stay here, let me stay here tonight" he repeats, his voice edgy with need.

He wanted to hold her, kiss her, _apologize_. After forever, he burned with the need to finally, finally make things right no matter what. To bring things back to what they were supposed to be.

" _No_ " Wendy says resolutely, pulling back once again.

Peter cannot hide the hurt displayed on his face. "Why?" he asks, frowning like completely baffled.

" _Why?_ " she spits back, face almost outraged. Seriously, he had some _nerve_. "Because I _don't_ want you to!"

Because she hadn't forgiven him.

What happened in the past few days had only been the last straw.

Wendy liked to keep all of that in the past. She really _wanted_ to.

She learnt to appreciate how time was liquid in Neverland and every day she could start new, so every morning brought new pain but also new hope.

But she _hadn't_ forgiven him. For any of the million things he's done.

The threatens to her family, the blackmail to her brothers, the _cage._

What he did just days, weeks ago,stealing her necklace with the kiss he gave her and trying to sleep with her like there was nothing wrong between them. When he hadn't even _look_ _ed_ at her for ages.

And what she just found out...

The imagine of him squeezing her heart in his hand got stuck in her brain. She couldn't tell him how much it had upset her when he hadn't been around, when he was gone, when he stayed far away from her. When she was alone and she just had to repeat to herself that it had been nothing but a nightmare, but now, now she couldn't take it anymore.

 _That_ was the last straw.

She didn't wanna him anywhere near her.

And at the same time….

At the same time she wanted nothing but his arms around her.

The way he was looking at her was making her weak in her knees, like she could fall to the ground any moment.

His eyes were _so_ lost and desperate, like she only saw them that night he came back to her and kissed out of the blue, pressing her against the very same wall behind him.

She wanted him again. She never _stopped_ wanting him and that scared her because what kind of masochist could still wish for someone who dreamnt of killing her?

She wanted him to hold her into his arms all night, cuddle up with him into _their_ bed.

And put it all that behind them. No matter what. No matter what he'd done to her.

She had called him sick but how sick, depraved and pathetic was that?

How sick was _she_?

* * *

Peter hated her.

He had some kind of unconscious instinct to murder her. She felt it, she _saw_ it. In her nightmare he literally pulled her heart out of her chest and looked at her like he wanted to _kill_ her.

And he was ready to do it, to murder her.

Peter _hated_ her. He still did.

But she couldn't be surprised, could she?

She saw that kind of look on his face before, a long time ago. But when in place where you couldn't tell the days and the weeks and the years, maybe it hadn't been that long enough after all.

And if she knew by now, with compassion and some sort of sadness in her heart, that Peter couldn't change, couldn't _love_ , couldn't do many things, she thought, she he had _hoped_ (because she couldn't give up on hope completely, for herself and for her family too) that he would relent on that.

She thought he had stop hating her at least a little.

Because he was the same boy who came to her night after night.

But in that moment, in those dreams, she had feared and hoped for him to _end_ her at once if that was what would have made him stop torturing her. Stop punish her for no other reason than the fact that she was _alive_ and in his island.

"Let me stay" Peter says again. "Just... just to sleep"

And Wendy knows very well he's never gonna apologize.

"If you stay you'll want more than just sleep"

"I won't touch you if that's what you want" his voice is a lot lower and softer than both of them are used to.

She looks up at him. There's no cockiness and there's no malice in his gaze.

She remembered well what she had told him the last time he _did_ touch her.

 _Stop! I said stop!_

 _Are you_ _rejecting_ _me?_

 _Yes,_ _y_ _es I am!_

And he did too.

 _I won't touch you... i_ _f that's what you want._

Since when did he care about what _she_ wanted?

 _If that's what you want._

It wasn't.

She had missed him.

 _So_ much.

She had to shut her eyes -and brain- close at night, pulling her blanket above her when she was alone in that bed suddenly so empty. The intensity she'd missed his kisses, his hands, had left her breathless sometimes. The only thing that kept her sane was reminding herself that even if he came to her, kiss her, touch her, he wouldn't stay afterwards anyway.

Because he didn't want to _actually_ stay with her.

And that's the only thought that let her finally fall asleep, after crying all of her tears, the past nights.

"You're such a liar. You're just manipulating me. You'll say anything to stay."

Peter ignores her words and this time, he _does_ reach out to touch her. His fingers skim over the back of her hand, his thumb brushes her inner wrist, right where her pulse was racing. When Wendy just flutters her eyelashes and doesn't move away and he's actually surprised.

"Wendy…" he calls her name like he's hopeless. "Let me stay..."He moves. And he's suddenly _so_ close. She lets out a breath that sound so much like a whimper.

"Let me…" his words trails off in whiff of breath against her ear.

 _Let me touch you._

His lips brush the side of her neck, his fingers slowly trail up her naked arm.

Wendy trembles.

His arms circle her waist, pulling her against his chest.

 _L_ _et me have you._

Having her in his arms after so long was getting him high with hope and drunk on dreams and anticipation. And that was dangerous. That was one of the most dangerous thing he knew, but he didn't want to think about that now. He didn't want to think about how much he _loved_ her. How _hard_ he had fallen.

But for a moment he couldn't help but wonder what it might be like saying it out loud. For real.

Because it never felt easier admitting it, now.

Now that he had her in his arms. Right against his chest, where _his_ heart drummed for her.

Wendy closes her eyes and sights.

Peter breathes in.

He hides face in the crook of her neck. His mouth opens slowly, but just to feel her skin beneath his lips.

He shuts his eyes tightly.

 _Please, please, let me have you._

He would have begged.

He would have begged just to be with her, hold her into his arms like that all night and nothing more.

 _Nothing_ more. He needed that. He needed her forgiveness, even if he didn't know how to ask for it. He needed _her_.

* * *

He was doing it again.

That was Peter's specialty.

Trying to get what he wanted from her, without giving anything in return, without explain any of his actions.

Burning up a fire and leaving just useless ashes on his path.

And she was tired.

She was _so_ tired of it.

It was like they were stuck on the same route over and over. He kept coming to her again and again like she could forgive every one of his mistakes. He kept coming back, making a mess and expect her to clean it up. So he could repeat it over and over again and never _stop_.

She couldn't even think straight anymore.

That was what he reduced her to.

When she was with him, when he held her, when he kissed her, she just felt so _weak_.

She couldn't think about anything.

She couldn't distinguish which was Peter and which wasn't.

The boy who almost beg her to let him spend the night with her or the creature with wolfish eyes who almost crush her heart to dust in his dream, in _her_ dream.

He was _both._

And for some reason only in that moment, Wendy seems to realize she could never be able to separate them.

Because he was Peter as much as he was Pan.

* * *

She pushes against his shoulder gently, slowly as she steps back and gets away from his arms.

Tears were now streaming down her face, freely.

His arms slip down his sides and Peter watches her dry her cheeks with her palm.

She looks up at him, eyes wet and red. She looked sad and exhausted. "Just... just tell me this." she takes a breath. "Do you… do you really hate me that much? To want to do that? To want to rip my heart out?"

If they asked him the same question years, even months ago, Peter would have said yes. With no hesitation whatsoever.

Because he's always wanted her heart and that was the only way to take it. To pull it out of her chest.

Yes, Peter did hate her that much.

He did in the past, surely. He hated her like he could hate an enemy.

But now, now it was completely different. Now it was an entirely different kind of _hate._

He didn't know much about feelings. But for some reason he felt like that hate he felt for her before came form the same place the love he felt now did.

Peter opens his mouth but he doesn't manage speak.

Words still don't come and Wendy stares at him with her puffy eyes, panic slowly growing in her heart, settling inside of her. "Is that what you really want? To kill me? You really want me..." she breaks off, the hurt taking over her.

 _Dead._

 _You really want me dead?_

She couldn't say the word. Could he hate her _so_ much he wanted her dead for real? Could he wish for that?

 _Y_ _ou wish me dead?_

The thought was enough to make her want to crumble down to pieces.

"No" he says, desperate to clear up the confusion in her eyes and in his mind. Because she got it all wrong. _All wrong._

But his voice is not nearly as convinced and confident as he wanted to. " _No_ " he says again, this time he shakes his head firmly. "I would never… I could never..."

 _I could never wish you dead._

There was something in the way _he_ couldn't even say the words now.

The thought of her dead and because of him was just…. _Unthinkable._ Unfinishedin his voice just as it was in his dreams.

"Then..." she breaths through her nose, unable to dry all the tears flowing down her cheeks. "What's the matter with you? What's wrong? Why are _you_ are doing this to me?" she yelps, broken and teary, desperate for an answer from him.

Peter winces. He blinks, then looks back at her completely stunned, but also completely infuriated.

To her?

To _her?_

 _She_ was the one doing that to _him_.

"Can't you see? You have me!" he yells back, abruptly, unable to stop himself. _"_ You have me. _A_ _ll_ of me! And what do _I_ have? Nothing! I have _nothing_ of you!"

Wendy blinks a couple of times.

Her eyes wide open and mouth parted.

She freezes.

* * *

 _Can't you see? You have me!_ _A_ _ll of me._

 _You possess me_.

The thought flows in Peter's mind suddenly and it's so powerful and _so_ completely overwhelming that leaves him terrified for a moment, yet it never felt more real.

He was a demon, a devil, between them and she was the one who possessed all of him. Heart, soul, body, everything.

His chest was constricted but strangely now that he said that, somehow it didn't hurt as much as before. Like voicing what had troubled him for so long- even if in an outburst of anger- suddenly made him somehow lighter. Finally lighter.

Wendy is still so stunned, she can only stutter. "W-What?"

Peter once again, feels need to come closer to her. "I would never do anything like that to you. I wouldn't do anything at all. Not now, nor…" Nor _ever._ He stops, didn't feel right say that, though. Like he was untruthful and he didn't want to be now.

He didn't want to bright it up what happened the last night he'd been there.

He had been angry, when he visited to her, restless from all the time they'd spent apart.

He had been frustrated and upset.

He had wanted to hurt her in the past. And he _did_ and he had delighted in it. That's the kind of person he was. But he was _trying_ now. Since he came to terms with his own heart, he didn't feel that need to shattered her into pieces anymore. It had dissipated, like the clouds when the sun came out. Because hurting her now would mean hurting himself too and even if she didn't trust his new good intentions, she will have to know that nothing called strongly and loudly that _self-preservation_ to Pan.

"I wouldn't do anything to you." he just says again, his eyebrows furrowed and soon his voice raises up again. "While you… you wouldn't even let me spend the night here with you. You let me have nothing!"There was still some sort of madness that came with all his feelings and just wouldn't go away. And a sense of hopelessness he abhorred to the core.

He was hers and he told her but _she_ wasn't his.

And he had no idea how to change that.

" _N_ _othin_ _g_ _?_ " she repeats incredulous. "You have me too...I…" she pauses because her throat is hoarse and she feels like she doesn't know how to breath normally anymore, "I am _yours_! I am _completely_ yours!" or talking without _screa_ _ming_. "Is that… is that not enough maybe?"

* * *

Wendy left London long ago.

But she didn't forget everything. How cloud she?

That had been a huge part of her life, that had been _all_ of her life before Neverland and Peter.

 _You'll never find a good_ _husband…_

That world had always been way too tight for her. Not really ready to be a lady, a wife, but also wanting to have what her own mother had in her own way, at her own terms.

 _A husband?_ _W_ _hat's a_ _husband for?_

Still, she believed in some of those principles, in those rules. And even if Peter being her husband couldn't be anything more than playing pretend, even less than that by now. It was just a mere dream, flown away too soon.

It made her completely mad that he thought that she would let him kiss her like that if it didn't mean anything. Did he really think she would let him touch her _at all_ if she didn't feel for him?

She'd rather die a thousands deaths.

Because even if it was like that for him, it certainly wasn't the same for her. It _wasn't_. It could never be.

What they did at night, what they have been doing… It couldn't be so wrong if she loved him, could it? Because she _did_ love him.

She _l_ _oved_ him.

She loved him so much.

* * *

Something was wrong with Peter.

Wendy suspected it since the first time he fall asleep in her room and then he stole her necklace.

He just wouldn't talk to her.

He wouldn't open himself up.

He wouldn't let her in in any way.

But now, now that he finally said it out loud, _You have me! All of me!_ – that was what had been bothering him all along?- she just went out of her mind too.

 _Can't you see? You have me! A_ _ll of me!_

Wendy heard almost just pieces of what he told after that. But only those words seemed to echo inside her head endlessly.

She wanted to _burn_ for the things she just said him, no _yelled,_ back at him.

 _I'm yours. I'm completely_ _yours!_

It was the truth. But he had pulled it out of her lips with his absurd insecurities and they felt like words she'd say at her wedding to her husband and for some reason she felt like a fool screaming them at him in such a way. (The same way _he_ did it.)

Gods, she was a fool, wasn't she?

A _foolish_ girl in love.

Deep down, she should have known it.

He couldn't be completely satisfied till he drove her crazy too.

* * *

There's a moment when they both are stunned into silence, the walls of the treehouse filled with just the sound of their breathing.

Wendy's cheeks are flushed scarlet and Peter's chest heavily rises up and down, from his panting.

He frowns, blinks, then he flinches slowly.

It was hardly the first time things escalated to that.

Many things happened exaclty like that with them.

Almost _all_ of the things that happened between them, happened like that.

Fights, words, _kisses_.

With the strength of a storm, the rage of a fire.

And in the end they were left watching the spoils of their ruination.

Gravity of confessions yelled out beneath layers of anger and frustration, under bleeding wounds that never really mended.

Acts and words of real affection lost between loads, _years_ of accusations, bitterness, pain and regret. Buried so deep within they both almost forgot how much they really mattered.

They both pushed, pushed, pushed until one, _both_ of them snapped.

Then, suddenly and way more fluidly the he felt, Peter moves his feet.

Wendy, still paralyzed on the spot, barely notices it.

When he cups her face in his hands and _kisses_ her she doesn't even realize she'd already stepped _right_ into his arms.

When she closes her eyes, all the rest – the accusations, the bitterness, the pain, the _regret_ \- just seems to slowly fade away.

* * *

 **There, after all the angst, you got a smooch. All is better, right?**

 **I really hope you enjoyed it! And yes, it ain't over. There will be more to come. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**First, little answers to the guest reviewers I can't send PM.**

 **To Sunshine518: Thanks so much! And yes, I think Peter and Wendy have such an interesting dynamic per se, I just put on the page a little bit of my personal view on the characters and this came out. I'm really glad you liked my story, I hope this chapter will be up to the expectations!**

 **To fluffybuttercup: Thank you very much! It's a delight to hear that.**

* * *

 **Guys, things get hot in this chapter** **.** **I'm** _ **not**_ _ **kidding.**_ **The rating of this fic is there for a reason!**

 **Be aware of that, please.** **I don't want to** **accidentally** **upset anybody fo** **r** **reading** **something** **they** **don** **'t** **wanna read.** **S** **o** **I'm** **warn** **ing** **you now,** **m** **ature** **rated** **stuff here,** **okay? M rated!**

 **Go away now if that's not your cup of tea, otherwise enjoy the reading.**

* * *

He kisses her wildly. And she matches him perfectly.

That kiss is everything he has been missing.

It's like she's water and he's been thirsty since ever.

It's like she's a banquet and he'd been starving for days, months even. They both did actually.

It's like she is _salvation._

There's a need inside of him, every time he's with her but now, now he feels like all the time he spent apart is crashing down on him and is pouring, _ex_ _plod_ _ing_ into that kiss.

He wants her.

Not just because he didn't have her for so long but just because he _wants_ _her._

And the way she's kissing him back, the thought she does wants him too makes his head completely dizzy.

* * *

Wendy knows Peter is urgent.

She knows he gets carried away easily.

He gets rough, fast, his hand pull and push and tear apart fabric, fingertips burning everything in his reach.

He even rushes things sometimes.

But he always (looks after) her, - his smirk edged- even if it's because he takes pride in making her squirm and twist under his fingers, his mouth.

He's always so… _urgent_ when they are alone.

But now, now she seems to understand that urgency too. She _feels_ it too. It almost scares her, but she doesn't stop to think about it. Her fingers become clumsy, fumble. She grabs the collar of his shirt, pull at the fabric carelessly. It felt so long since she last kissed him she almost feels awkward in her movements. Her hands find his belt, she unbuckles it and lets it slip on the ground with a thump. She pulls his shirt past shoulders, impatient.

She just wants him _bare._ She wants to run her nails across his chest. She wants to kiss a path down his stomach. She want to sink her teeth into his shoulder. She wants him to be hers the way he told her he was. _You have me._ _A_ _ll of me._

She feels his hands moving from her face. One slips around her waist, pressing her closer against him, another runs up.

She feels the pad of his fingertips on her breast, brushing her hardened nipples through her nightgown and she moans into his mouth, her arms tighten around his neck.

* * *

Peter feels like bursting up.

He needs her. _Now._

For a second he thinks about pushing her up against the wall and taking right _there._

But then all he can do is gasp loud, at the feeling of her hands on his _bare_ skin. She took off his undershirt too. She bites down at the point between his shoulder and neck. Teeth, tongue, and lips on his flesh, and he has to shut his eyes close. Her hand slide down, _down._ He feels it right against his erection, caressing him through the fabric of his trousers. He lets out a raw, growled sound.

He almost thinks of grabbing her wrist to keep her away from his lower belly because he's _aching._

But then, her mouth is on his again and his hand closes over her breast, cupping it firmly, and he's just wondering how he's gonna last through it.

She is pushing him, then. In what direction, he can't tell.

He fumbles on his steps until his legs hit the bed. He sits down and he pulls her in his lap, never stop kissing her.

He removes her dress with a such a rush it get entangled into her hair.

When he finally can put his hands on her bare chest, she moans and shivers. Peter's mouth is hot and wet, open, presses against her pale neck, and suck on her skin. She tangles her hands on his hair, holding him tight.

He doesn't even take off his trousers, almost like he forgot it. Wendy's fingers push at the fabric around his hips, with little accomplishment. She has to stands up to let him get rid of his trousers himself. She kisses him again, pressing herself against his chest, with the need to be inside his arms. She pulls at his arm, trying to lie down on the bed and get him on top of her, because she _knows_ that's what he likes best, she knows his preferences. But Peter doesn't move. One of his hand cups her cheek and he just kisses her again. He wraps an arm around her waist, then he pulls her back into his lap, making her straddle him instead.

He never said it, but he loved holding her like that. Feeling her little weight on him, made him feel like the ground was a place nice to stay. Like he didn't need to _fly away_ for once.

Of course he liked to get her underneath him, her soft body modeling molding into his so wonderfully. feeling her writhing and moaning softly,

He liked her turn her around, get her on her knees. He liked her _any_ way.

But having her in his arms like that was just _something._

* * *

She is melted against him, he's holding her so close, he wants nothing else but pushing her down on him and take her.

On the back of his mind, he still manages to think that if she is not ready he might hurt her and for the first time he really doesn't want that. He felt like she barely let him touch her enough.

They found themselves so entangled with each other suddenly, too busy to get rid of their clothes as soon as they could. Too eager to hold her and kiss her and touch every part of her he could reach, and when he felt _her_ hands on him and he was _so_ gone. He brushes his knuckles between her legs, just to make sure she is ready. He finds her wet and tender flesh. The thought she wants this, _him_ just as much he does always drives him insane.

 _I'_ _m_ _yours. I'm_ _completely_ _yours._

He recalls her words and wants to believe her. He knows she doesn't lie. Not if she's not forced into it. And she's not the type to lie about things like that. She's not _him_. She's honest and she pride herself in it.

He wants her to be his.

And he doesn't mind if he's hers.

Because for the first time ever he thinks he _wants_ to be hers too.

* * *

She places her hands on his shoulders, while his fingers grabs her hips and pull her even closer. Her knees touch the matters behind him. He places a kiss behind her ear, then against her jaw. She lets out a breath, a moans, and she looks down at his eyes, dark and beautiful.

When he thinks he can't wait anymore, she sinks down on him and he muffles his groan, raw and breathy, into her collarbone.

She moves slowly at first, looking for something, for a rhythm she's not sure of. They hardly did it like that. They rarely been in that position before. But when he follows her, thrusting up inside of her, it's easier than both of them remembered.

He leans back into the mattress, head thrown into the pillow. He just watches, eyes blurring, as she slowly moves on top of him.

His hands tighten on her hips but only to guide her gently, following the rhythm _she_ wants.

His hips push up into her every time she grinds down.

Soon he's panting, but so is she. And it makes him feel better.

The sound escaping from her mouth are _so_ sweet, her lips red and parted and her small breasts bouncing in front of him, _everything_ about her was carrying him away.

He wants to make her cry out his name first. He wants to hear her. He wants to make her come first.

She grinds down again and his hips thrusts up, harshly and fast, now.

She leans her head down to his mouth, to kiss him, her fingers leave a wonderfully soft caress along his jawline. "I'm yours. You have me, Peter. You have me" he hears her whisper against his lips, like a dream. But he knows it's _not._

His hips jerks up suddenly. Her fingernails dig across his shoulder, she close her arms around him, clinging to him.

Wendy cries out just a moment before Peter shuts his eyes tightly, his palms on her back, his head fallen back, and he comes too, inside of her.

* * *

Everything is quite afterwards.

The sheets tangled around their legs, both of their breathing and heartbeat placid.

Peter is completely relaxed on his back, Wendy rests her head on his bare chest, one of her palm flat just below his heart. He has an hand in her hair, her curls slipping between them, and she can feel his fingertips against her scalp, stroking her imperceptibly.

"You have me. _All_ of me." She murmurs against his skin, holding him tight. Using the same words he did that night felt right.

It might be silly now, but hearing them out loud from her voice make her blush.

She hides her face against his shoulder.

"How could you doubt that? Gosh, sometimes I think you had me since that night I took the hand of your shadow."

Peter suddenly stiffens up, his hand tenses. Wendy looks up but his eyes drive away.

Oh, _that_ night.

The first time she came in Neverland.

The memory of it was still something Peter couldn't really accept fully.

They say that after a long time memory makes everything sweeter and hazy. You keep the good ones and forget the rest. But time didn't matter in Neverland, and Peter used to forget everything all together soon after it happened. But that _night_ , that night was still something frozen in between.

He remembered seeing white. Her dress was _so_ white. None of the boys he met wore something like that, so he knew it must have been something else. But what? A girl? A bird? The _Wendy-bird._

He remember feeling so many things then. All mixed, not really hazy but not really clear into his mind either. He felt joy at first. That was familiar. But then, a hurt. A hurt so deep in his heart, he thought something like that couldn't really _exist_. Not in Neverland, not in _his_ realm. He couldn't feel it. He hadn't felt like that in hundreds years. He hadn't felt like that since he still was in the land without magic. And when she left him the first time, he felt like he still was no one else but that boy with no magic and with no _home._

Peter shakes his head, still refusing to look at her.

" _You_ had me that night." he tells her, voice low and deep. The words hit her. She turns her head up, props herself up on her elbows to look at him. She blinks, confused and a little shaken. Peter does meet her eyes for a moment but soon he looks away.

Holding the sheet close to her chest, Wendy pulls away from him. But only to sit up next to him, so she could look at his face without stretching her neck.

He sits up too, resting his back against the headboard of the bed.

"I ordered the shadow to look for a boy for a very long time. I only had a picture of him" he tells her. His voice is steady but his eyes aren't. Not completely. "I knew he was form the land without magic. And I knew a boy had been in your house for weeks and I thought it might be the one so I sent my shadow there."

Wendy frowns. She remembered the hope of her and her brothers to see the shadow at their window.

It was such a wonder to see it. It could travel between words, it was so magical and mesmerizing, just like _him._

"You were looking for Bae? All along?" she asks, confused.

She didn't get it. When she came back the second time to save her adoptive brother, Pan told her he let him leave. That he was gone, back to his land, safe and sound. Did he lie about that too?

" _Oh, don't look so disappointed, Wendy-bird. If you wanna play hero so bad, I can always throw one of my boys into the Echo Caves so you can rush to save him. I bet Tootles would even volunteers."_ He had grinned his devil-like smirk at the mere prospect. _"He can't wait for an adventure."_

"No, but I didn't know it then." He didn't know he was Bae's _son_ the boy he was after. "For a while, I just kept bringing all the children whom believed in Neverland, hoping to find the one I needed." He pauses and she waits for him to continue. "It turned out that in your house, there were not just one but _three_ boys and _you_ came. My shadow brought me you."

"Because I took his hand. I wanted to see Neverland, I _dreamnt_ of it, I… believed…"

Peter shakes his head lightly. "Yeah, but it couldn't be just that."

"Bu you said..."

"I _never_ took girls." he breaks her off. He was never after girls. "It doesn't _work_ like that. It's _my_ shadow. He responds to the things _I_ command. He takes orders only from me and I wanted a boy."

Suddenly, Wendy's eyes get cloudy.

She knew that part.

She knew it very well. She remembered the way he deceived her. He showed her around he island, showed her the things she wanted to see. Fairies, mermaids and _all sort of_ mystical creatures _._ Then, he made her feel _so_ wrong. So unwelcome, so out of place. Neverland was no place for girls. And among his boys, lost and feral, just like _him,_ and so completely unwilling to be moved by any feelings, she never felt more different in the worst way possible.

"What are you saying, then?" She almost thought crosses her mind about telling him that maybe he wasn't not as in control of his shadow as he thought he was. Just to see if she'd get a laugh out of him.

He takes a breath. What he was trying, what he _wanted_ to say felt so grave now.

Because after all this time, only now he'd realized he had wanted her since the _first_ time.

"That for some reason, my shadow wanted you." The green in his eyes is so clear is almost too much for her, he watches her trying to avoid his gaze, she lowers her eyes. " _I_ wanted you", he's pleased when she lifts them up to him at the words. He likes to be able to look at her face, he likes the light in her eyes and the way she blushes. "and I didn't even know it." he finishes.

He didn't even realized it.

Because he wasn't going to admit it or _accept_ it. He would have never given up all of his kingdom, all of _himself_ without a fight. To a girl nonetheless.

"I heard your stories," he tells, and this time Wendy's head shoot up."the ones you were telling to your brothers before going to bed." he pauses, lips curling up in the ghost of a smile. "Well, my _shadow_ heard them. I just heard them in my dreams at night, I heard... your voice. You were always telling the one about the sorcerer's..."

"...apprentice." Wendy finishes for him, staring at him with something in between wonder and genuine surprise in her eyes.

"Yeah, that one. I liked that one." he smiles, his eyes soft.

She liked it too.

She remembered when, long time ago now, Peter gave her fairy-tales books to tell the Lost Boys stories. One night, he had stepped in her room and he had magically made appear a pile of books on her bed. When she saw a copy of _T_ _he_ _Sorcerer's_ _Apprentice_ at the top, her mouth parted, stupefied. Before she could even think to ask him anything, he was already gone.

Then, she checked out the other books titles and saw all the fairy-tales she liked to read at home. She always thought it had to be a coincidence. A very funny coincidence. But sometimes she couldn't stop thinking of the reason why he gave her exactly all her favourite fairy-tales book.

That was the reason. He _knew._

Suddenly, that made her cheeks warm up. Peter keeps talking.

"But for some reason in my dreams I couldn't see your face. I could never see... _you._ " He's still watching her and she feels her heart beats faster. "I don't know if it was because you believed in me more than others… but I don't think it was just that. I…" This time he drops his eyes, almost defeated. "I don't know."

After all, could he really explain it _,_ _l_ _ove_? Could anybody really explain the pull toward just that one person, and the certainty no other could make you feel the same?

Could he really explain the pull he felt towards her, like she was a part of himself, of part of his _soul?_ His _soulmate_.

He might know how to make pixie dust work better than anybody else but he wasn't a _fairy._

He was no expert in the matter. (Nor that he ever wished to be.)

He wasn't a fairy. The thought was so ridiculous...

But he did make him think of Tinkerbell.

She would laugh out loud at him now. The first time Tink told him what exactly her job was, finding people's _true love_ , Pan felt like he didn't know if he wanted to _barf_ or simply satisfy that desire to slit her throat with his dagger for just mentioning something like that in his island.

But Tinkerbell had always got more fire than what she showed with her graceful appereance.

 _Oh, don't worry. If they ever asked me to find your soulmate Pan, I'd quit and jump off faster than that poor unfortunate soul._

 _Well, aren't we all lucky you're not a fairy anymore, Green?_

He called her that just to spite her. And he didn't stop there. Oh, _no_. Because he wouldn't showed mercy on _anybody._

 _You're just as useless now as I bet you were when you still got your wings._

He might have given the fallen fairy a place to stay when she dropped out of nowhere in Neverland but she must know that she wasn't welcome. And with her any other who dared to speak of love in his realm.

No, Peter wasn't a fairy.

He never dealt with love before Wendy.

He never felt it, he never understood it. And he still didn't now.

Now, he just _knew._

* * *

Before recruiting his boys as the Piper, Peter knew many boys dreamnt of Neverland.

They visited in their dreams and Peter saw them, met them. It was like they were there with him, they could stay just as long as they didn't wake up.

But Wendy never really visit him like that.

She dreamnt of Neverland too. Every night since the shadow talked to her about it.

Everything was magical and wonderful in her dreams and she couldn't wait to go and visit and live her adventure.

She saw the sea, turquoise, shimmering with gold and silver, she saw green, wild trees and dark sky at night and clear blue in day but she didn't saw him. She _never_ saw him.

Maybe they were not meant to meet like that.

Maybe they were meant to meet in person. And not in a dream. Somehow, that felt so much more important, held so much more meaning.

Her eyes wander on his face, there's still some confusion troubling in Peter's eyes, and Wendy can't stop herself from asking, "Do you regret it?"

"What?"

"Meeting me"

"Why do you ask?" he almost sounds alarmed.

She just looks down, "Oh, I don't know," she smiles and it's a little bittersweet. "Maybe because when you believed you couldn't get to my heart the first thing you thought about was to rip it out of my chest?"

"Wendy…" he starts.

"No" she shakes her head, stopping him. "I… I know who you are." she says, looking at him in the eye. "I might not have known it that night but I do now. And I learned how to… _handle_ it." At least she thought so. She said horrible words to him the night before, in their fight and she still feels guilty. _I know what you are._ She thought he _was_ a monster because she saw it. And it hadn't been a dream. It had been as real as it could be.

"It's just that… to think that you might really want to..." to _crush_ her heart. He dreamnt of it. And she saw it. Even if she wasn't supposed to, she still couldn't forget how much it troubled her.

"I don't" he says quickly, wishing there was a way to reassure her for good. To make her _believe_.

"But you did think about it in the past" she points.

He looks at her, her shoulders still flinching slightly, and he curls his fingers into fists, to repress the urge to touch her. What could he say to that? It was the truth.

She takes a breath, her eyes, all of her face get quiet. "It's fine if you do, you know" she tells him, " if you do regret meeting me"

She just wanted to know.

She watches him. He's half in shadow, half in light, the line of his eyebrows hard, and the white sheets wrapped around his hips. She saw him bare many times now, she knows he's pale, his skin is almost as white as her own, but with that yellowish light on him now he looked so… different, _delicate,_ even.

She watches him and waits for his answer.

She wanted to know if he ever dwell on the possibilities like she did.

Because she _did._ Times and times again.

She did wonder... what if she never took the hand of his shadow?

Maybe he would have carried on with his immortal life without her and she would have lived a different life too, with no _P_ _eter_ _P_ _an_ in it. With absolutely no trace of his existence in it.

She knows she chose what she wanted for her life now. She chose _him_. It's been an entire century since the last time she begged him to let her go.

But she did wonder.

But she did wonder what it might have been like if that night she listened to Bae and just _close_ the window.

* * *

Peter opens his mouth, he feels like it was too hard to breath already.

How _could_ he regret it?

He wanted to do regret it so badly.

He wanted to regret the first _step_ she walked on Neverland's soil.

And he had.

He had wanted her gone then, far away from him and she _had_ been. Because his wish was a command in Neverland. He made her leave and pretended it was exactly what he wanted. Her arrival had been nothing but a mistake after all. _All_ of her had been nothing but a mistake. He pretended to believe that and he _did_. The sooner she'd be gone the sooner he would forget all about her even coming there at all and things would have go back to normal. But they _hadn't_.

It had only been misery, while she was away.

A misery as _endless_ as the nights and days in the very kingdom he created.

So how could he regret it?

Everything would have been so much easier if she never came... But _how_? How could he regret it after _everything_?

He wasn't that strong. But maybe she was. She always looked as fragile as she was strong. She's always had a power he never grasped, never got.

"Because you do, don't you _?"_ he almost sneers at her. He can't bite back the rough, _harsh_ note in his voice even if he wanted after all they just shared, even after he had her like that again in her ( _their?)_ bed, he still was so uncertain of what she felt towards him.

Wendy winces and that faint look in her eyes still makes him doubt everything.

 _You have me too. I'm yours. I'm completely yours._

Even the words she said to him that night and just moments before.

 _I don't have you._ _Because_ _you don't wanna stay here._ _Because_ _that's not what you want._ _Because_ _you don't want me._ He can't stop his mind from thinking that. _I'm not what you want._

And he can't stop the hurt.

 _A_ _nd the only way I can keep you is against your_ _own_ _will._

And in all the time she spent there, some days, some of their days had passed so quietly, with no fights and no cries and no _tears._

With just the sunlight in her eyes and her smile, her beautiful smile and he almost fooled himself she might have said yes. If he asked her to stay in Neverland with him, she might have said _yes_.

But he never asked. He _never_ asked. Because he always thought that he didn't _need_ to.

He was the king. He was the one who made the decisions. And only his word counted there.

She was a prisoner, leverage against her brothers until they finished his bidding. And if things had changed, _changed_ so completely he never felt the need to let her believe otherwise.

Until now.

She might agree to stay in Neverland now? Deep down, he felt like she'll never really be okay with it. Keeping her against her will felt wrong now but still, he couldn't imagine living in Neverland alone without her. He knew it was because of what he felt for her now. That knowledge now made him want her happy no matter what, with or yes, even _without_ him. But he'd been selfish for so long and stopping just wasn't in his bones. And if being selfish about that was painful now, he still couldn't imagine her away from him forever.

Peter wants to tell her something, but he doesn't know what.

He remains silent, waiting for her to speak first.

Wendy blinks. She looks at him for a long time, struggles to find the right words to say.

Did _she_ regret meeting him?

Then, she just chooses for the _truth._

"Sometimes" she tells him, finally.

His heart sinks at hearing that.

It's not the wrenching, heart-shattering feeling, compressing his chest, that he experienced before, away from her, all alone. But it makes his heart ache nevertheless.

No, it's different. This is more like a prickle. A scratch, a quick cut that does bleed but it's not unbearable. Because deep down, when he allows to be honest with himself, he thought about it and he thought the exact same thing. He might not picture himself away from her, but...

What if he never met her at all? What if his shadow took one of her brothers or just another boy that night?

If they never met, none of that would have happened.

He would get what he always thought he wanted. His power and his immortality. His _childhood._

And he would have never fallen in love at all.

He lowers his head and his gaze. He just can't look at her now.

Wendy speaks again. "But others, _others_ I couldn't imagine living my life without you in it" Her fingers touch the side of his jaw, under his chin to find his eyes. She wants to look at him. And she wants him to look back at her. "I don't think I could ever go on and live my life without you."

She doesn't think she could ever live _a_ _ny_ life without him in it.

She stares at him intently. She watches as his features changes through many different emotions, surprise, shock even, then something warm, like affection, like... _love?_

Even if they were so rare, the moments when she was with him, when she _really_ was with him, when it was just them, when he held her, when he kissed her like he did when he told her he was hers, she thought that no one has made her happier, no has _hurt_ her more, but no one has made her happier either.

She never felt more _free_ than when she was with him. And if someone asked her, they tell it was complete craziness because he was the one who locked her in a real cage made of sticks. But still, she knew that Neverland was exactly what she wanted, _he_ was what she wanted and she couldn't denied it anymore. No matter the hurt and the pain she had felt, she still feels to that day sometimes.

She smiles, small and gentle.

Peter lets out a sight. He reaches out to caress her cheek softly and Wendy takes his fingers with her own, holding them against her skin.

"You do have me. And you don't need to take anything, because... my heart it's already yours. It's always been. Please, just…." her voice gets weak, broken. She closes her eyes, feeling the tears still wetting the corners of her eyes. "Please, just don't push me away like that again, okay?"

She said she could take him but she couldn't take another heartbreak.

He doesn't promise her but he brushes his lips against hers and kisses her and somehow it felt like so much _more._

* * *

They sleep. Almost all night.

They're both very tired and finally they find some time to just sleep. Put at rest all that happened between them in the past weeks, even in the past hours. Even if that had been good things. _Very_ good things.

They sleep until dawn.

A white light is creeping out from the window, reaching the floor and the edge of bed.

Wendy turns on the mattress, her eyelashes flutter open slowly.

Peter is sitting on his side of the bed, back turned on her. He's fully dressed, his torso wrapped up in his green tunic. He bends over to reach for his boots.

"Peter?" She calls him, voice uncertain and sleepy, her eyes still trying to focus his figure."Are you… are you leaving?"

He doesn't turn completely to her, he just turns his head to the side.

He doesn't answer.

He has no idea what he should do actually.

He slept for awhile but he's not a sleeper. He woke up eventually. He lied there, nervous and restless and unable to close his eyes again, unable to do anything. He watched her sleep, until he couldn't take it anymore.

He never really slept there with her apart from _one_ night. That night he broke down and stole her necklace.

He's always run away.

He's always run away as fast as he could, sometimes even before Wendy fell asleep.

He just didn't want to read anything in her eyes, or hear any words from her lips.

 _G_ _o away._

 _Go_ _a_ _way, I_ _don't_ _wanna talk to you._ _I_ _don't_ _wanna even see you._

So he was out of the room before she had time to say anything and he had time to think, really think about what he wanted.

He _knew_ what he wanted. _Stay, st_ _ay_ _,_ _stay._ He wanted to stay. He's always wanted to stay with her afterwords, wake up with her. But what if she still didn't?

What if she still doesn't want him there? He doesn't want to be the ungallant, _horrid_ boy she called him so many times before.

She told him a lot of things that night. A lot of _sweet_ things and being the receiver of all that made him his heart warm and light. He knows she's sweet, and tender and caring. She's all that but he's not. _He_ is not. He's not. He could growl out, yell confessions that had made his chest stone-heavy for days, but only to get rid of the burden, only to set himself free. He's like that.

What if he cannot be anything else, anything _at all_ for her? What if she still wants him gone after all?

He doesn't know why he can't feel at peace even when they are fine, when things are fine between them.

Because deep down he knows the truth.

He's still unsure. Surely, he got a weight off his chest, but he didn't _tell_ her all. He didn't tell her what he really feels. He didn't tell her he _loved_ her. And his heart cannot feel really light if he doesn't tell her. Things cannot be really fine if she doesn't know. But that, that seems such a struggle even now.

What if he'll never tell her? What if he's not _able_ to? What if she wants that he never could? What if she _doesn't_ love him back?

His breath traps somewhere in his lungs at the thought.

She didn't tell him either, after all.

 _My heart is_ _already_ _yours._

He recalls what she said, but what could that really mean?

She didn't say the words either. And for a moment Peter felt himself burning with that selfish need to hear them from her instead. When he couldn't seem to slip them off his mouth to save his life.

Maybe that was his punishment.

To crave honesty now, when all he ever did in his endless life was lying and pretending.

* * *

Wendy sits up, her curls wild and bushy from sleep, she rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. "Where are you going? Is it morning yet?"

Peter feels his shoulders suddenly go rigid. "No" he says.

"Then... stay, will you?"

He frowns deeply. "You… want me to?" he asks, his is voice husky and astonished like what she was saying was so… unthinkable.

"Yes." She tells him quietly, like it was the most obvious thing she could think of. When he doesn't move, doesn't do anything. She looks at him, confused. "You… you don't want to?" Then she lowers her head, her eyes drop down, not able to look at him anymore, afraid of what he could tell her, afraid he would confess something she just _can't_ hear.

Perhaps she read him wrong. Perhaps he still doesn't want to stay. Even now that she told him he had her heart. He hadn't say it back after all. Perhaps he didn't regret meeting her. Perhaps he did regret it _all_. And what he told the night before -y _ou have me, all of me_ \- had been just a slip of tongue, something he said in the heat of their argument. And what they did, all of that, it still meant nothing to him. It was just a night like another. She breaths in quickly, her lips trembling. All of her fears gather in her chest at once, she feels the tears pricking her eyes, a knot on her throat.

Peter turns completely towards her. "I do" he assures her.

Wendy looks up, blinks. "Then stay." She prays, all gentle and soft, but with a a broken edge of hope. "Stay with me." She reaches out for his hand, instinctively. He presses his thumb over her palm, caressing it.

He looks at her, with his throat clenched and his eyes wet.

She was asking him. She _was_ asking him. She did want him to stay.

Maybe Peter has craved to hear those words from her as much he craved her heart.

He lies down on the bed on his back.

Wendy lies on her side, when he turns his head to look at her, she's _so_ close.

Slowly, she slides even closer and rest her head against his shoulder.

He moves his arm and wraps it around the small her back, lightly, pulling her against him. She curls against his side and when she closes her, she feels the sleep coming back again.

He watches her. He noticed the way some of her blonde hair spill on the green of his shirt.

He _likes_ it, he thinks, just before he holds her tighter and he feels his eyelashes getting heavy too.

They _sleep._

* * *

 **Little note: the book Wendy used to read is called _The_ _S_ _orcerer's_ _A_ _pprentice_ and it appears in the deleted scenes of OUAT season 2, episode 22. In case you'd ever want to check it out, I didn't make it up.**

 **I don't know if anybody was wondering about the timeline of this story, it's AU so its doesn't matter that much, but to be clear all the events are set during the the second time Wendy came to Neverland.**

 **It's still AU but I wanted to tied up different things in this chapter, some of them connected with canon, (I guess you could spot some references to the OUAT Neverland arc). I'm not sure how well that turned out, but this is it for now.**

 **Thanks so much for reading, thanks so, _so_ much for all the reviews, follows and favourites everyone! **

**What do you think? Are Peter and Wendy gonna enjoy their piece of happiness? Or is this just the calm before the storm? Who knows… (I probably do, actually. :P)**

 **You're gonna find out in the next chapter, if you want to.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back!**

 **First of all, here's the answers to the guests reviews:**

 **To fluffybuttercup:** **Thank** **you** **for the lovely compliments. M** **y head is** **getting** **big,** **you should** **really** **stop.** **J** **ust kiddin** **g!** **I'm glad you liked the previous** **chapter.** **There** **was a lot of stuff going on in there,** **it was** **some sort** **of resolution after** **everything** **that happened** **previously.** **I** **guess** **people like** **it** **when** **Peter and Wendy** **are happy together but it** **can** **never** **be** **that easy** **with** **them** **,** **can't** **it?**

 **T** **o** **Angel Lee** **:** **Don't we all? I'm sure there are a lot of fans of the original Barrie's** **work** **that would have** _ **loved**_ **to see a new version of** **Peter and Wendy's** **story on O** **UAT** **.** _ **Peter**_ _ **and Wendy**_ **was the original title of** **the** **Peter Pan book after all, innit? Well,** **what can we do? W** **e've still got our own stories anyway. Thanks so, so much!** **I'm** **super happy** **you enjoy** **ed** **the reading.**

* * *

 **This chapter was supposed to be longer but** **then** **I** **'ve decided to split it in two,** **'** **cause I think I made you guys wait long enough.** **(** **Sorry, by the way.** **)**

 **Here you go.**

* * *

He spends the night.

He stays with her all the nights. He even has a side on her bed, now. _Next_ to her.

Sometimes he holds her, sometimes when the air of Neverland is just too hot and wet, he just lays next to her and the mere presence of her placates something inside of him. She's there, inches from him, he can touch her hand, her face, if he wishes to. And that's enough.

It made him feel... _safe_ _._ As funny as that sounded.

Wendy _officially_ invited him.

They were at the camp, sunlight shone.

Her cheeks were so delightfully rosy, lips curled up and her eyes luminous, and the bright morning light made the curls around her face look even blonder.

She told him he could sleep in the tree-house with her at night from that moment on. If he _wished_ it to. She told him she wanted him to. She told him that it would be quite _impractical_ for him to go back to his bedroom now. As if he _hadn't_ done it time after time before. He reclined his head, " _Im_ _practical,_ uh? _"_ he had to fight off from grinning at her _wildly_ and honestly, he didn't even _try_.

She blushed scarlet and her mouth curled into a pout. Peter pulled her by the waist and he kissed her soundly.

"Don't let the children hear how their mother invite _boys_ in her bedroom." he whispered in her ear, all games and playfulness, "To _spend_ the night with her, nevertheless."

Wendy pulled away from him, quickly. She made a perfectly outraged face, her lips parted."I didn't invite boys!" she objected. "I invited their _father_ "

His eyes shone at her words.

She looked so adorable, with her hands on her hips. Peter didn't stop grinning at her for a moment.

In all truth, Wendy felt only half embarrassed. For the first time, that game of playing house didn't seem more light and fun. Maybe because _now_ she knew he was only joking.

"Still, not _in front of_ the children" he told her, his lips still close to her ear, his fingers finding their way around her hips. She could hear the lost boys' voices coming from the jungle.

She wanted to push him away from her again, protest that _he_ was the one with his hands still on her, but Peter just stole another peck on her lips before walking away from her, one of his hands slid over her stomach, caring and warm. She knew he was just _innocently_ teasing her, but when he smirked at her one last time, she blushed ever deeper, if it was possible.

Right then, the lost boys made their entrance to the camp, eager to take their seats at makeshift table they used for breakfast and have their meals.

Peter and Wendy sat at the opposite side of the table, at their usual seats, because they established long ago that's were _m_ _other and_ _f_ _ather_ were supposed to sit.

Peter didn't tear his eyes off of her for the entire breakfast.

Wendy met his gaze from across the table, just once. With her cheek still on fire, she looked away and tried to focus on her plate, until one of the twins asked her to help him cut his toasted bread. She obliged, like a good mother.

But she still had to bite off her smile for the entire time.

* * *

"Do you think something happened to Mother and Father?" Tootles asked Slightly on their way to the camp.

Slightly frowns deeply. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't notice? They didn't fight in _days._ " Tootles tells him, a quite worried wrinkle on his forehead. "Last night they didn't even argue about whether we were supposed to eat dessert or not. I mean, we all know how Pan always wants cake but Mother always disagrees. And she give us the most horrid tasting medicine afterwords, because otherwise she says it'll get us sick." he grimaces at the thought a second before keep speaking. "Well, last night? She didn't say a word. No protest, no fight, no medicine, nothing at all. She actually let us eat dessert. _Three_ nights in a row. Isn't that strange?"

"Yeah" agrees Curly, strolling right behind them."Now that I think about it, I actually saw Pan _smiling_ the other day"

"What?" Slightly turns to him, this time more than _a little bit_ concerned.

"Do you think it's possible they're under some spell?"

"Yeah, what if they're cursed or they drink some magic potion, maybe? Do you think it could be Hook's doing?" Hook's pirates did something to them

"Hook? As if Hook could come up with anything better than unlacing Pan's boot in his sleep."

"Either way, I really think we should do something." Tootles prompts.

"Like what?"

"I don't know..."

"Hey, guys" Slightly interrupts them, pulling at Curly' sleeve. He pulls away some branches with his hand and nods his head towards the camp."I have a feeling Mother and Father are just fine" he smirked.

Tootle and Curly turn their heads. "Wait, is that them? What are they doing?" Tootles squints his eyes."Did Pan just... did he just _t_ _himble_ her?"

"That's not a thimble, Tootles"

"Oh." Tootles pauses, then, he realizes something. "Oh, right. I _know_ what that is. It's… an _acorn."_ he beams all satisfied, then he adds. _"_ He _acorned_ her."

Curly shots him a look.

Slightly rolls his eyes _so_ hard they could fall out.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" she asks him, out of sudden.

They're laying on their sides, face to face, on the bed in the tree-house. One of her hand is holding his, playing gently with his fingers. The silence between them is heavy but there's something reassuring about it. Even if Wendy liked more when they talk, when Peter _actually_ talks to her, they never needed that much words between them and there's something comforting in just being together in silence.

"That you're beautiful" he whispers, his voice horse. Her hand stops moving suddenly, her cheeks turn red in the darkness of the bedroom. Peter smiles.

It's way too easy to make her blush, but there's something extremely _satisfying_ in watching that flush spreading across her cheekbones and knowing he's the one who caused it.

Wendy bites her lip, trying to bite her own smile, but her eyes are just too bright even in that soft lamp light that surrounded them. "Tell me," she starts, trying to sound casual, her eyelashes covering her eyes, "how did you learn to lie like that? Is there a secret or… I mean, there has to be a secret, right?"

His smile grows bigger. Then, he frees his hand from her grasp and he slides his arm around her waist and over her hip, pulling her to him until he's perfectly pressed against her.

"I'm a natural" he grins, mouth pressed against her cheek.

"I knew it"

"But I could teach you" His lips moves so deliciously soft down her throat and neck, "if you asked me _nicely_ "

"Whenever I asked things anything but nicely?"

This time he actually _laughs._ _Point taken._ He could almost _feel_ her pout.

When he pulls away just enough to look at her face, Wendy's smile is so beautiful and wide, her cheeks could hurt.

* * *

During those nights, when his mind is softer, gentler, when his walls come down, one after one, slowly and softly with every single one of her kisses, Peter wonders what he did to deserve that.

How could he have that - _her_ \- after everything?

He is a _villain_ , isn't he? That's what _any_ author of those stories she read, that's what _anyone_ would call him.

So he wonders how _long_ all of that will last? How long _could_ it really last?

Because he is a villain and he doesn't know very much of how his story is supposed to end, but _she -_ _Wendy-_ felt exactly like an happy ending. _His_ happy ending. And villains don't get those, do they?

And if whatever he found with her is not supposed to last, he wonders why he didn't _tell_ her.

 _What are you thinking about?_

That he _wasn't_ lying before.

 _That y_ _ou are_ _beautiful._

Because there were some things even _he_ couldn't lie about.

She _was_ beautiful. (She also did _look_ beautiful, but she _was_ beautiful to him.)

Peter falls asleep.

 _You are_ _beautiful._

The soft echo of that thought floats in his mind like a snowflake in the air.

* * *

One night, at the campsite, with the fire still burning for one of the lost boys' party, Wendy asked him about her brothers.

That topic was one they both preferred to leave alone for a while, not wanting to break that fragile equilibrium they found. Pan was taken by surprise, his shoulders gor rigid in an instant. He didn't manage say anything at first.

"I see, you still wanna keep secrets" Wendy's voice and her face are so disappointed, he couldn't bare to watch her like that again and because of him. So he talked.

"No, I just… I need them to find me that boy." He told her the reason he kept her brothers under his control. He told her they were his connection to the land without magic, and that he was still looking for that boy and that he was someone really important to him.

He didn't tell all the details, that Neverland was dying and that would have affected him soon, very, _very_ soon. He didn't tell her what his shadow told him from the very start.

 _What's the hourglass for?_ _W_ _hat happens_ _when_ _it runs out?_

 _Y_ _ou_ _r youth will be taken_ _and you'_ _ll_ _die._

He couldn't even be sure himself of what would have happened _exactly_. Sure, his shadow told him he was gonna die but he didn't feel any weaker yet.

He didn't want to think about that, he still had time and a plan, he had it for a while and it wouldn't fail. _He_ wouldn't fail.

He didn't tell all the details and Wendy didn't inquire further, and that made him feel relived.

He didn't lie to her. And he didn't want to, not if it wasn't strictly necessary. He could see she was confused and she had that frown on her forehead, she wanted to ask more but for whatever reasons she didn't. And he was grateful for that.

He wanted that piece of happiness, of peace. And he wanted it with her.

And even if he was going to, he was meant to loose her soon, he didn't want to loose her _now_.

Maybe it was the same for her too. He hoped so.

"Just know that nothing is gonna happen to your brothers, I promise you" His eyes and voice earnest. He swore to her he would keep them safe.

He wouldn't hurt them. He wouldn't touch them. He needed them very much _alive_ after all.

Wendy couldn't tell exactly what his promises meant to her, but she knew that he kept them no matter what and it was true, she still wasn't ready to trust him all together, but she was willing to trust that. His _word_.

"Unless they're dumb enough to get themselves _killed_ , of course." Pan added, almost out of the blue.

Her eyebrows knitted together tightly. " _Excuse me?"_

"You know, the more I know them, them more I think they're _exactl_ y the kind of lads who might be able to do that."

" _What?"_

"I'm not saying it's your fault or anything" he went on, "I just think your parents run out of their dose of cleverness for the family when they made you, Wendy. That left really close to none for John and Micheal" He looks at her all playful, with his eyebrows raised, but his eyes are soft.

She stared at him with her mouth open in outraged for a while, then she smacked his chest, hard. "You, _imbecile_ " she muttered.

He hugged his stomach, bent over and put on such a display of exaggerated pain, he looked completely ridiculous. She had to bite her lip not to laugh. Only him could pay her a complement and _insult_ her brothers at the same time.

When he looked up at her again- her hazel eyes all lightened up- he saw the little smile curling up the corner of her mouth, and he _knew_ he could win _all_ of her trust back.

It would have taken a lot of time and effort but he _could_.

And he was going to.

* * *

He can't see much.

He just hears.

 _Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

"Kill her"

 _Kill her. Kill her._ _K_ _ill her._

There's a voice.

"That's what you need to do."

 _Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

It's a rumble, like a thunder, like the roaring of beast.

"You need to kill her."

 _Kill her. Kill her._ _K_ _ill her._

And it doesn't stop.

"Get rid of her. _Now_."

 _Kill her. Kill her._ _K_ _ill her._

Then he sees.

A shadow, _his_ shadow, completely black, like the projection of all his darkness, floating around and his eyes talking to him, haunting him.

"What are you waiting for? She's been here too long already. You had your fun, alright. But you have something else to take care of now. Neverland's time will run out soon. Look at the hourglass, it's almost half empty."

Finally the surroundings around him are clear enough for him to understand. They're in Skull Rock. He turns his head and see the hourglass with the sand rushing down in front of him faster than he's ever seen it.

"What? No, no, I've still got time. I've got a plan. I'll find the boy."

"You won't find _anyone_ as long as that girl is here, as long as she'll keep distracting you."

"No, no, she's not-"

"What? A distraction? Oh no, she became _more_ than that, didn't she? How could you let it come to this? Look what she did to you already. Look what she _turned_ you into. Nothing but an idiotic, love-struck puppet..." the shadow comes close to his face, he's almost struck by his yellow eyes "… _in love._ " His shadows spits out the words like there couldn't be anything worst in the world. And suddenly Peter understands that completely because he thinks it too. He _used to_ think it too.

"Get _rid_ of her."

It's not just his shadow, he sees, it's… _himself_. At least a part of him. A deepest part of him that he just couldn't keep hidden all inside.

"Stop saying it!"

"Look at you! Peter Pan, the boy who wouldn't grow up? _Ah_ " His shadow laughs, but with no humor just ice. "What will they call you now? The boy who fell in love? Or maybe, the boy who just _f_ _e_ _ll_?"

"Shut up!"

"Really, how could _you_ let it come to this? I will say I can't believe it but..."

"Stop talking"

"Yes. Why should _I_ care, right? I'm only your _shadow,_ after all, it's not like _I_ will die anyway. But you? You have _grown_ _up_ already. She _made_ you."

"She didn't made me do anything!" As if _anyone_ could make Peter Pan grow up, against his will nevertheless.

"Oh, yeah? Except yearning to crawl between her legs like a common _man_."

"No!"

"No, even _w_ _orse_ than that."

"Shut up! I told you to shut up!""

" _Hook_ himself looks less pathetic than you are right now."

"Shut the _bloody_ hell up!"

"Don't you want to be the king again? Don't you want your power back? Don't you want your _real_ _self_ back?"

 _Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

"Stop it"

"Don't you want you _heart_ back?"

 _Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

"Kill her. You need to kill her. All you need to do is... _kill her_. Now"

Then suddenly, the place around him changes, vanishes and turns into something different. They're back in the forest, Wendy is there too, on her knees, hands clenching at her chest.

He knows that place. He knows that _dream_. He knows it all very well.

His shadow is gone but his voice is still in his head.

 _Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

He has Wendy's heart in his hand.

His fingers close around it, tight.

 _Kill her now._

Then, in the blink of an eye, he crushes it.

With a sharp cry, Wendy falls at his feet, as dust slips through his fingers.

He can't do anythign but watch her dead body on the ground.

No. No. _N_ _o._

Peter screams.

Then, he's awake again.

* * *

Wendy hears a scream.

But not really.

She _remembers_ hearing a scream, distant and muffled, but it was only in her sleep.

She wakes up.

When she turns around the other side of the bed - _Peter_ 's side- is empty. The sheets crumpled.

She sits up, throws a look at his green tunic with the leather cuffs and belt still on the chair exactly where Peter left them when he went to bed the night before. His boots aren't on the floor anymore, though.

With and heavy sight, Wendy gets off the bed and climbs off the ladder, stepping into the forest, fully intended to look for Peter.

* * *

 **So, I tried to keep this chapter a little more lighthearted, at least in the beginning.**

 **I don't know if I managed? What do you think? That's a little bit of new territory for me.**

 **I really had fun writing that bit with the Lost Boys, though. I hope you had fun reading it.**

 **(Oh, and the fact that Pan likes cake is mentioned in episode 4x16 where Hook and Smee are sent to get some. It was too hilarious, I couldn't pass the chance to throw it in here… lol).**

 **But don't you worry some trouble is coming up for P and W! There's gonna be a big confrontation between them in the next chapter. :P**

 **As per usual, thank you so much for sticking around, reviewing, following, favouriting and all that stuff.** **You're _beyond_ great.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Every time I try to keep my chapters short so I could update faster, I fail _big time._**

 **Here, have a quite long but late update. Happy reading.**

 **And please mind the usual old dose of angst.**

* * *

 **Guest reviewers corner:**

 **To fluffybuttercup: Glad, I could make your day. Your comments make mine, so I had to reciprocate somehow. I always feel the need to answer the readers the best way I can, because you guys are still here reading and letting me know what you think of the story and you _don't_ _have to_ do that. So when you guys do that, it's just incredible for me.**

* * *

The midnight airs is chill enough to make him shiver.

It fills his lungs with fresh, new oxygen, but Peter can't seem to stop panting. He walked away in the forest but he stopped in a clearing near the treehouse, and he didn't care to go further away.

He throws a look up. The sky is starless and black. When he went to bed, it glittered with stars and the silver of the moon but now, it changed.

The sky is deep black now. An exact mirror of the way he feels.

Soon he hears footsteps behind him but he doesn't turn around.

He already know it's _her_ and he doesn't want to see her face.

Not now.

All the things his shadow told him, _haunted_ him with, in his nightmare, scared him like it never did before. He knew he thought them too once, but now everything was different, wasn't it? He didn't _want_ to, he didn't want to think them. But he did and he didn't know how to stop it all. He didn't want to scare her away.

And then, what if she found out about it? Like she did before?

Peter shuts his eyes tightly like that was enough to stop all of his thoughts.

* * *

"Peter?"

The only sound joining her feet stomping on the grass is his sigh.

"Go away" he hisses.

"Peter?" Wendy calls him again because _of course,_ she does. She's always been naive enough to think gentle and nice could work with him and stubborn enough not to give up on anything, not even him. She got under his skin and now it was definitely too late to hope she'd stop.

"Go away. Leave me _alone_." He hisses, growls out from under his labored breath.

She's right behind him. He _feels_ her.

He doesn't want anybody to see him like that. He certainly doesn't want _her_ to see him like that. His cheeks were wet, he chest heavy, he still couldn't breath normally without panting not matter how many times he tried and he couldn't stop his fingers from clenching and unclenching into fists.

"Peter, are you alright? You promised me not to do this again, you promised not cut me off and push me away again, remember?"

"I didn't promise you anything." He snarls back, harsh and sudden. He turns around to face her. The ugly grimace on his face makes Wendy flinch but mostly she's worried.

Peter Pan kept all his promises. But that wasn't one he made, not with his words.

"I told you to get away. Leave me alone. I don't want you here. _Leave_."

Wendy stands still.

She simply looks at him, studies his face, through the dark.

Peter was a schemer.

Wendy knew to learn that part of him. He entangled, _manipulated_ everything into his net and then hit exactly when his enemy was powerless. In the exact moment when he knew it would cause more damage. She witnessed that many times but now it was different.

Now, she _realized_ that even a schemer like him, related to the basic rule of every fight.

The best defense was _attack._

He didn't want to be left alone. He would have run much further away if he wanted that. He certainly knew how to disappear away from her if that's what he wanted. Neverland was _his_ realm. He ignored for weeks before.

No, Peter always liked to do that, to play those kind of games. As much as he could enjoy play the predator with her, now he just wanted to see how far _sh_ e would chase _him_. If she would come after him. (Like she's _never_ done that for all this time.) Sometimes even with the Neverland's crown perfectly laid on his head, he could be just that _insecure_.

He didn't want to be left alone.

He wanted to be _found._

And she wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

"You had that dream again, didn't you?" She asks him, ignoring what he told her.

Peter barely flinches at her intuition.

No, it wasn't the _same_ dream. This time it was much, much _worse_ and he had no intention of talking about it with her.

"It was nothing but a nightmare, Peter. I know it means nothing and you should know it too."

"Oh yeah? And you apparently know everything, don't you?" he comes closer, "Wendy Darling's got it all figure out, doesn't she?" he spits, all husky and poisoned words and with still that awful, monstrous look in his eyes. "Tell me, have you ever thought you might be wrong about that, uh? That I might have lied to you?"

After all, that's what he does, isn't it?

That's what he _does_ best. Lie. Lie. Lie.

She blinks, suddenly baffled, insecure.

"That I just made you believe that dream meant nothing, that I didn't mean any of it, to get exactly what I wanted?" He's speaking inches from her face now. "Have you ever thought that what I told you that night, I told you just so I could sleep in your bed, with you again?" _So that I could have you again._

She stares at him while pieces of conversation of that night floats in her mind.

 _You're such_ _a liar._

 _Do you really want to kill me?_

 _No, I would never..._

"You don't mean that. I know that's not what you want." she tells him, voice cracking a little.

 _Do you really want to kill me?_

 _No, I would never…_

He _told_ her.

He told her that _after_ he slept with her and he had no reason to if he didn't mean it.

Nevertheless, she feels the tears pricking into her eyes already and a sigh trapped in her throat, escaping her lisp.

"Oh, is that so?" He smirks and it's cold and awful.

He looks at her, with his horrid, disturbed snarl in his face. His hair falls messily into his moster-like eyes, casting half a shadow. "I'll admit you are quite fun at night, Wendy, but for the rest..." he shrugs "not so much, after all"

He watches her widening her eyes, sparkling with tears, as the shock takes over her face, cold and unmoved, pretending not to see her at all.

And _failing._

And breaking inside, little by little.

* * *

He had no idea of what he was doing.

Of what he was saying.

He felt like pieces of him, of who he was, were sliding away between his fingers. And he had no idea how to stop it. He had no idea if he should stop it in the first place. He had no control over any of it.

He was sabotaging himself.

He _never_ self-sabotaged before, he never even thought about it. It just made no sense. He always had a plan, and then a back up plan and a back up plan of the back up plan. He was always tree steps ahead of everyone but now, now...

Things were good between them, weren't they? Why was he sabotaging himself? Why would he sabotage _them_? Why would he do that now?

He didn't want to tell her those things. He didn't promise her with words but he didn't want to push her away again. He couldn't bear it. Especially now that things were fine between them. They finally found some peace, some rest.

He just… gods, he just couldn't shake the memory of that bloody dream, the picture of her _dead_. The imagine of her lifeless body at his feet was still so vivid in his head. Even now, _especially_ now that she was in front of him and so very much _alive_.

Because she _was_ dead _._

It had been a dream but for him it didn't matter much, she was _dead_.

And _he_ had killed her.

He'd crushed her heart. And now that was crashing his own heart too. Seeing her tears once again was crashing him.

* * *

Wendy tries to swallow down, but there's a loop in her throat.

No, no, no. This was all a tactic of him. But she wouldn't fall for it. No, no, no, she would not play that game with him again. Every time something upsets him, he shuts down and tries to hurt her and push her as far away as he can. He was taking it all out on her in that twisted way of his. And she wouldn't let him.

She take a breath, slow, ready to talk some sense into him but Peter steps in front of her.

"Maybe, one of these days, maybe even tomorrow, I'll wake up, I'll be bored… maybe I'll my snap my fingers and you… will be gone, _dead_. For good. Have you ever thought about it?" he asks her, rough and raspy.

She fights back tears, trying to ignore the way his words hurt.

"Every day." She tells him and her honesty throws him off for a moment.

She catches the way his eyes widen and his jaw stutters just a little before he blinks it away.

"I thought about it every day since the first time you kissed me." Actually since the first time he touched her. "I thought that maybe the next day you'd decide it was all wrong. A mistake, or worse. That you didn't want me anymore. That maybe you never did. And then..."

And then it'd be over. It _was_ over.

And that wasn't one of her stories. That actually happened. So if he was really asking what it was like to live with that fear, that he was only using her, what it had been for her to live with that terror that he didn't want her, she would tell him all about it. "Then you'd finally decide to send me away again and end it all." She sniffs, "And end me too, if you you wanted. Sometimes I even thought I was waiting for it. I thought maybe things would be easier like that, for both of us." She looks at him. "Wouldn't they?"

At least all the pain and the hurt will stop. Forever.

Often, she had been awake at night and she had found herself wondering if _that_ -death- was the only way to forget him. If only there _was_ a way to forget him at all, erase him from her heart. The way he seemed to do every day with her.

"Maybe _everything_ would be easier that way, wouldn't it?"

* * *

Peter feels paralyzed. The ice in his blacken heart, the one he carried every day now seemed to immobilize him on the ground.

Wouldn't it be easier _what_? If they separate, if he _killed_ her? So he could go back like to his life like she never existed?

Like he didn't think about it before.

She _knew_ he thought about it before. Do _you really hate me that much? To want to do that? To want to rip my heart out?_

He's been haunted by the thought and never really been able to actually _do_ a thing.

But is that what she really was thinking now?

How could _she_ even suggest that now?

He hated the resigned look on her face, like she finally, finally gave up on him at last. On them.

The idea he might not want her after everything was so completely _dumb_ now. But to actually hear that she felt it too, what it's like to live with that fear, that cold panic of being apart, even if only for her sake… He couldn't help it, there was a part of him that felt _vindicated_ for everything he's been through and still was feeling. That uncertainty he felt, she felt it too and he was relieved, but still, it wasn't enough.

He stares at her.

She had such an earnest resolution in her eyes and in her voice that made him want to _crumble_ _down_.

When he turns his head away from her, Wendy felt like snapping.

She almost reaches out and grabs his arm just to make him look back at her.

But she doesn't. She can't bear to actually touch him, too afraid she might crack right then and right there, at his feet.

"Answer me!" she yells, her voice an high-pitch, desperate note.

" _No!_ " he snaps back at her, eyes piercing. It's an half yelled, half growled, raw and cutting answer.

But she knows it's real.

She can see his eyes now.

She breaths in and out a couple times, to calm down. She licks her lips. Her face is quieter now, a drop of hope spreads in her chest and relaxes her features.

She wants to asks him why not. _Why not?_ But she doesn't want to push for anything more. She just wants to make sure what she sees it's the real him. That that mask of coldness and monstrosity has come off now.

Yes, she did want the want the confirmation from his mouth that she was not just a passing fancy. That she was not a toy, a plaything, just the whim of a _child. T_ hat he didn't want her to stay only because he considered her something he could own and decide in her place just because he felt like a king.

But she doesn't need to ask for more.

He watches her taking some steps closer and he's afraid. He almost feels his arms, his hands tremble. But he can't do much, he's stuck on the spot, unable to make any movement.

"I meant it" her voice is softer now, he recognizes that note better. Her typical tone is back. "When I told you my heart is yours, I _meant_ it. You didn't believe me?"

"Did _you_?" He spats back, his voice is still so harsh, but he can't help himself.

Would she believe him now if he told the words, the entirety of _those_ words, that _his_ heart was hers? He just feels so exposed in a way he cannot stand and he still doesn't want her to see him like that. He hates her for making him deal with all of this in the first place and not being able to _lie_ the way he wants to.

"Did _you_ believe _me,_ Wendy? Did you believe any of the things I told you?"

 _You have me, all of me._

 _I wanted you and I didn't even know it._

Peter knew deep down that wasn't the fairest move.

But that was the easy way, to take it all out on her, blame her. Because that's what he was used to. That's what he _could_ do. "It's not as easy as you thought now, is it? _Believing_ "

Wendy opens her mouth but the words don't come.

Could she believe him? If he told her his heart was _hers_?

(Yes, she might have believed him when he told her she had him, but maybe she only thought he meant his body. Of course, she had his body, gods she was _the only_ _one_ who could make him feel like that.)

She can't speak. And he listens to her silence like something desperate.

She sighs then she looks away and for Peter that was like admitting defeat.

He might have cheated but he won.

And he would take the victory, he would take _any_ victory on her but that didn't feel like _winning_. At all.

* * *

No, she hadn't believed him. Not completely. Not with every part of her.

They weren't going anywhere.

If they kept doing this, fighting, lying, pretending to forgive and forget and then do it all again from the start, they weren't going anywhere. And any progress they made was worth nothing. He always seemed to take one step forward and two steps back and they kept taking that rout endlessly. They were stuck like the hands of a broken clock.

She wanted to believe him so badly, _s_ _o bad_ _ly_ , maybe for a second, when he kissed her that night, when he held her, she did. And when she asked him to stay she _knew_ she wanted nothing else but to believe him.

But Peter couldn't change.

Wendy knew it and it hurt her. And a part of her wanted it so, she couldn't deny it. A part of her fantasized about what things might be like if he was just a little gentler or tender, if he was like any other boy, if he _gr_ _e_ _w up_ with her and went back to London. But her mind was made up now.

She was not gonna leave Neverland because she was not gonna live _hi_ _m._

Because she _l_ _oved_ him. (Sometimes it left her astonished how simple that could feel, when everything between them has always been so complicated).

But another part of her wouldn't change _a_ _thing_ of him, because that's who she fell for and she probably wouldn't love him the same if he was different.

When he told her she had him, she felt so many things at once she could hardy distinguish a single emotion. She had been stunned, upset, scared. Then exalted, _happy_ , grateful even.

She _did_ believe he meant well, she _did_ believe he had missed her maybe, but she also believed that all the things he said that night, he said them in the spur of the moment, during one of their arguments.

That's what Peter did, what they both did.

But when he told he wanted to spent the night with her, maybe he only wanted her body. Deep down, she could believe and she _did_ believe that he was fond of her after all, but he couldn't mean anything deeper, could he?

 _You had me that night._

She had all of him? She had every part of him? His heart too? How could she _really_ believe that?

It was so _absurd_. She knew who he was.

He didn't say anything when _she_ told him he had her heart.

* * *

"No, you're right I didn't, but..." She takes a breath to continue but he doesn't let her.

"Good, because neither did I."

"Peter..."

"At least there's something we agree on. I guess you can't blame me for this too, can you?"

"I don't blame you-"

"Why not?" he shouts, suddenly. "Why _the hell_ not? _I_ do! I blame you for everything you've done to me from day one! I blame you since the first time I met you, since the first time you ever came here. I hated you so much, I can't even…"

 _I hate you and I hate that I'm not able to love you the way you_ _want_ _a_ _nd that I never will and…_

 _S_ _ometimes I feel like I can't even breath anymore because of it._

 _Because of you._

He hated all she was because it was exactly everything he wasn't. And for the first time, he felt like what _he_ was might not be enough. And that feeling of being _lacking_ , buried deep between eras of endless power and magic and games and pretending he got everything he could ever need or dream of, suddenly rushed to the surface since the first time she talked to him and never went away.

He hated her good heart, he hated her motherly ways and most of all he hated her forgiveness. _How much_ _more_ _can you forgive,_ _Wendy_ _?_ He hated her endless forgiveness because he knew all he would be was an endless sinner. And they had no way out of it. He would always be the villain in her story and he didn't want to anymore. He _didn't_ want to.

"I can't even recognize myself anymore and it's _all_ on you!"

"What?" she asks, barely able to get the word out of her throat.

"Leave! Go away! I want you to leave!" he yells, an hand on his hair. He looked completely distressed.

 _That's what you're gonna do anyway, sooner or later._

And in the end, the fact she was right was just another defeat he had to take.

 _I thought maybe things would be easier like that, for both of us._

No matter what he did to her in the past, all the ways he hurt her, no matter what he could do to her in the future, perhaps they really were _meant_ to part, to stay away from each other. She would be better off without him anyway, wouldn't she?

Because what if would he take it all out on her, for real? What if he wanted to see what it felt like to be rid of her sooner or later and he did kill her?

 _Wouldn't that be easier?_

Being away from her felt like nothing else but misery, he knew it from the time he sent her back to London _-I_ _want you to leave for good_ _-_ but what if that was really the only option they had? That _he_ had?

 _Wouldn't that be easier?_

 _No, no, it wouldn't._

And he told her. He wasn't just his selfishness or his stubborness talking, he wanted her to _know_. That being separated from her had been hell.

But maybe if they parted for good this time, maybe that oppression in his heart would stop.

What if she saw his dreams again? And what if he acted on it? What if he acted on his darkest instincts? It wasn't even remotely what he wanted but what if…

They've been fine the past days but it couldn't last, could it? She told him he destroyed everything once. What if he would destroy her too? For real. What was the point in trying at all if he was meant to destroy everything? If he was meant to _fail_? Then, it was better to break off everything now. He would destroy whatever there was between them, anyway.

He felt so completely out of control of his magic, of _himself_ around her. And he hated her for that too.

"No, no. I'm not leaving, I'm going anywhere. Please, just tell me what happened, Peter."

" _No"_

"Peter, please-"

"Go away, Wendy! How many times do you want to hear it, uh? I _don't_ want you here!"

He was gonna hurt her again sooner or later. He _already_ did and he didn't want to watch her bleed this time. He found no pleasure in it this time.

They really were not right together, they were not right for each other. No matter how much he wanted her, or he loved her.

He would always be a villain, while she was one of the good ones. She might not be like the heroes of her storybooks, who fought with swords or wanted to learn magic like the Scorcher's apprentice but but she was a hero in her own way and together they would never fit.

* * *

She wasn't leaving and he wanted to run away.

He wanted to get away from her.

He had no idea what more he could say to her. And he just _needed_ to get far far away from her.

It all was for nothing. They had _nothing_ left _._ His feet move on their own, withdrawing but not knowing where to go to get away from her.

He just couldn't take this anymore.

Then, Wendy grabs his hand and Peter falters.

"Peter," she calls him with a sweetness he just can't get use to, "if the one thing you want is to have my heart in the palm of you hand," for him to crush it, for him to do whatever he wanted with it, "then, you can have it." She had no power to stop him, did she?

"I know it's hard for you, but I want you to know something. Whatever you saw or did in that nightmare, it was just that… a nightmare."

If he wouldn't talk to her, he wouldn't explain what upset him, it didn't matter that much to her. She caught enough to know him. She peeked into his mind too.

She _knew._

It was difficult to him to distinguish his dreams from reality in Neverland.

She caught a piece of what kind of demons he struggled in his mind.

Has it always been like that for him? She wondered. She didn't give much thought before she saw that dream of his. If that's what he had to go through at night, she couldn't even imagine the rest. It was exhausting.

But he told her he was hers. She knew from experience how terrifying it felt to let your guard down, to fall for someone. How powerless and defenseless you could be. She could only imagine what it meant for him, the way he was accustomed to give orders and have anybody wrapped around his finger. To have absolute control over everything in his island.

"But this," she places his hand on her chest, right over her beating heart, "is real."

His fingers spread across the cotton of her nightgown, over her heart. It was drumming now. Was _that_ real?

"I know you chose who you wanted to be a long time ago, and there's no point in trying to change that now but..." And he would never let her. He was the _Pan._ "I just want you to know that… when I look at you, when I _really_ look at you," she looks at him in the eye, all soft, watery eyes and the tiniest smile dancing upon her lips, trying to let him understand what she's saying, "I only see Peter."

* * *

It felt like a contradiction, now.

Wendy always thought she couldn't separate Peter from Pan because he was both, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had been wrong all along. Maybe what she saw was _one._

And she knew it, she knew it so well, that he was _the one_ she loved.

"And he's not weak, or powerless or anything less..." she continues and his fingers shakes between her own.

Peter blinks, flinches. He stands there in front of her, legs still and but trembling at the same time.

He wanted her to stop talking. He wanted all of it to stop. Because he had no idea what to say back to her, what to answer. It was all too much. He didn't want to listen to her.

He wanted to beg her to stop talking. Because the only words he could think of were exactly those three words he feared all his life. Those three words he was sure he never felt, and never will feel. But now, with her shaking and moonlight shining on her tears, on her cheeks and her hand holding his just over her heart, he _felt_ them more than ever.

"Wendy…" he calls her name, tired out and sighed, but she goes on, doesn't let him finish.

"He's not _any_ of the bad, of the _worst_ things you can imagine becoming. He is strong and beautiful and..." she stops, breathless. She wasn't sure she could go on, saying all the things she wanted to say. To her, he was strong and beautiful and _alive_ and he made her feel alive more than any other ever did or could. And she was _completely_ in love with him.

She felt completely bare, cheeks on fire, tears streaming down uncontrollably, now and she felt she couldn't go on without telling him that she _loved_ him, and she had no idea if that would make everything crumble down, she had no idea if he would want to hear that from her at all. She knew he despised those words. He scowled and mocked and even rumbled back at her when she was too affectionate with the boys and let them slip out of her mouth, almost out of instinct. He'd even forbidden all the boys to pronounce them out loud.

His eyes widen in surprise, he felt the corners prickle, he couldn't breath easy.

He shakes his head, not sure he wanted to listen, he was afraid of what she might say, but there was a warm, fluttering feeling in his stomach at her words, and at the softness of her hand against his made him feel weightless. Suddenly it was all too much and not enough.

His other hand moves up like on its own will, to brush over her jaw, caressing it and getting his fingers wet with her tears.

"Peter..." she whispers, not knowing exactly what to say.

Perhaps, for once she should just jump and damn the consequences, let it all off her chest and if he wanted to have nothing to do with her afterwords, at least she had said the truth to him. She takes a breath and parts her lips, but it's not _her_ voice saying the words she wants.

"I... I love you" he tells her, voice broken but clear.

When she looks up at his eyes, she freezes.

And all the forest, all Neverland around them freezes too.

* * *

Wendy blinks once, twice, three times, her mouth hangs open. Her heart races.

In Neverland you can't grow up.

In Neverland you can't grow old.

Because time stands still.

But even if time didn't pass and was forever frozen, Wendy thought maybe there must have been a moment when it did stop for the first time.

It's always been impossible for her to tell exactly how time worked in the island.

She's been there for almost a century, maybe more, but only in that moment she feels like she can understand what it really felt like _being_ there.

Only then, she can understand what it felt like being in Neverland the very moment time _stopped._

* * *

 **Sorry guys, I needed Peter to backslide a little bit because well, he's the worst at dealing with feelings.**

 **But the end turned out quite well, didn't it? :P**

 **I hope you liked this. It was a big chapter and I wasn't sure of some parts and some dialogues.**

 **(If you're wondering if I'm sorry 'bout the cliffhanger, I'm not. I mean, yes, I'm _so_ very sorry.) **

**See you in the next chapter! Biggest thanks as always.**


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